Five Days
by dferveiro
Summary: Complete! Two people, a civilian and a CSI originally from Texas, find their paths cross during a crime. Nick has to find a way out of trouble, without ignoring his conscience or getting himself or another killed.
1. Default Chapter

**a/n:** This is a very different story for me, in that I'm going to focus a lot on OCs. But Nick and the CSI nightshift team are definitely involved. I wasn't going to post this at all, but I've written a decent amount, and what the heck--enjoy!

**Momentum**

The heels of her tall boots clacked importantly against the stone tile floor of the building's lobby. Not that she was important—she was just an ordinary 20-something woman—but it was fun to pretend.

Jill tossed her light brown hair over her shoulder with a quick flick of the wrist, and went into the flower shop off to the left of the lobby. She gave a civil nod to the building security guard, who nodded back and turned back to his paper.

Cool air greeted her as she walked into the flower shop. Bright colors popped out at her, as did unique shapes of exotic flower heads. Jill turned to a vibrant orchid, even though she knew she'd settle on a ready-made assortment. For now, the plum-shaded bloom distracted her.

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Nick Stokes sighed as he walked into the building's lobby. He wasn't thrilled to be awake right now. Sure, it was the afternoon and all, but he was tired! After already pulling a double, and now making that double go into overtime, he knew he wasn't too alert.

He swallowed grimly and walked over to the security check in.

"What floor is Mr. Lloyd in?" Nick asked, suppressing a sudden yawn. The guard merely pointed to the directory on the wall. Nick frowned but moved to it.

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Jill knew the bouquet wasn't as nice as the orchids, but money _was _an object, and she wanted to say 'congratulations!' to her newly engaged friend, not 'I could fund your entire honeymoon.' Besides, Jill wasn't that flush in the cash department anyway.

She exchanged money for flowers with the store clerk and then clacked loudly out the door with her boots.

Her eyes focused on the variety of colors in that ready-made bouquet. It wasn't rich, but it _was_ pretty.

Suddenly she walked into someone. Jill gasped as she dropped her flowers, and she quickly bent down to pick up the bouquet.

"So sorry!" she said quickly, not even glancing at the stranger she bumped. Before the stranger could answer, a loud squeal sounded from outside the building.

Jill found herself ignoring the flowers as she saw not just one, but three police cars pull up. The officers quickly spilled from their vehicles.

The stranger in front of her turned abruptly and grabbed Jill. He yanked her to her feet, and she yelped as she saw the harshness of his face. His dirty blonde hair was long, just above his shoulders, and his rough features told her this wasn't about her bumping into him.

The man whirled her around in his arms, and suddenly pressed a gun to her head. Jill whimpered.

"Hey!" she heard someone shout across the lobby. Her eyes darted to a man, dressed in some weird, dark vest. Before he could do anymore, or less, two men drew guns and aimed them at him.

The stranger holding Jill jerked the gun to the entrance, and fired three shots. The cops heading up the building's stairs hit the ground.

"Let her go," the man in the vest said, ignoring the guns pointed at him. "I'm with the Las Vegas PD. Take me instead."

Jill ventured a glance up at her captor, and saw him nod to his comrades. They moved in on the man, pushing him along.

But Jill wasn't released. She was dragged along, by the blonde thug as his friends prodded the guy wearing the vest. Two more shots rang out, again from the criminals, and the next thing Jill knew, they were going down some staircase.

"Let her go, man," the guy with LVPD said. "You don't—" He groaned and shut up when one of them hit him in the back of the head. The man stumbled a bit.

"Please let me go," Jill whispered. "Please let me go." She kept repeating it, so softly she wondered it was audible at all.

The older, blonde man holding her shook her and gripped her arm so hard she uttered a helpless squeak. "Shut up," he said.

Jill bit her tongue.

She hadn't noticed it earlier, but the man's voice was . . . foreign. It was English-sounding, or British. And despite the connotation of being charming, it was anything but. Especially as his fingers dug deeper in her skin.

The stairs ended in a garage, and waiting for them was a tall Volkswagen van. She and the LVPD guy were shoved in, and the van sped off with the three thugs glaring at their hostages.


	2. Day One

**Day One**

The one with the British accent seemed to be in charge. The other two, and the driver also, hardly talked. They just obeyed, it seemed.

There wasn't a bank or anything in the building. What the thugs were after or why the police were alerted, Nick didn't know. But he did know that he'd stupidly gotten himself into this mess.

The girl seemed shocked. She didn't move, but just stared at the leader. Her brown eyes were abnormally large, wide with terror. It occurred to him he should try to comfort her, but seeing as he still had guns aimed at him, he wasn't about to move.

"You're a cop?" the leader asked, his accented voice calm but authoritative. Nick slowly nodded his head.

"I'm with the crime lab," he said as briefly as possible. The leader smirked.

"So you're not as valuable of a commodity."

Nick shook his head. "No, I still work closely with the police. I'm a crime scene investigator." He gulped as the Brit seemed unconvinced. "Look, no one seems to be following us, so I don't think you need the leverage."

That smirk reappeared. "Are you saying I should go ahead and kill you?"

The girl jerked at that, drawing a flicker of a glance from the Brit. He almost smiled at her reaction. Nick glared at the man.

Before he could think of any rebuttal, the Brit motioned to his accomplices.

"Tie them up."

Nick watched as one of them taped his wrists together. The guy was probably in his late 20s, maybe 30 even. He had dark hair, in a grown-out buzz. His eyes were dark as well, adding to the overall sinister feel the guy radiated. He didn't seem bothered by what he was doing.

The other accomplice trained a gun on Nick and the girl. He looked to be in his early 20s, and was arrogantly confidant. His light eyes blended in with his fair complexion and short blonde hair. Over all, he just seemed prematurely cold.

Nick took a deep breathe. Whoever these guys were, they meant business. Nick just had no idea what business they were in.

The sound of sirens startled everyone in the van. The driver suddenly accelerated, gunning the van ahead with gusto and expertise. The Brit jumped into the front passenger seat.

"How many?" he asked.

"Four."

The leader simply nodded and loaded a fresh clip into his gun. He lowered the window and leaned out.

Shot after shot sounded, eight or nine of them. The girl flinched at each one, and Nick joined in when he heard a loud crunch of metal behind them. The leader merely grinned and sat back in the seat.

"Get us out of here," he ordered.

Nick didn't know where they were going, but he leaned his head against the back of the van as he thought. He was going to the building to see Mr. Lloyd about a case.

It wasn't uncommon that cases were connected. But he didn't know why it would be. Mr. Lloyd might have known the victim in a homicide, but that was it.

The building was big, though. Nick closed his eyes as he thought what else was in it.

He wasn't aware of those watching him though. Particularly the leader.

"Lane," the dark haired accomplice said. The British man turned his attention from the crime scene investigator.

"What?" he said shortly. The younger man gestured to the hostages. Lane knew the question. He was trying to decide the best course of action himself. He merely nodded confidently at his men, making sure they both knew he was in control.

Lane stared at the two hostages. The girl would be easily controlled. She responded to fear, and that was simple enough. She kept staring at him, not challenging him, but no doubt wondering what her future would be. Lane offered a shark-like grin to her, and she finally shifted her stare to her boots.

The crime scene investigator, as he called himself, was a little more complicated. Just the nature of his job made him a risk. It also made him a valuable asset, if used correctly.

The assignment had gone wrong, obviously. What they sought wasn't where it was supposed to be—or rather it was but a failsafe damaged the information they needed. Before they could do anything about it, someone triggered an alarm.

Lane frowned. Both of them, the crime guy and the girl, could be used when the time came. The police would look for them. The press would report everything, and the information they needed would be harder to get because of it.

But maybe the police could do the work for them—in exchange for two live bodies. Ransom wasn't a safe card to play, but Lane knew safety was highly overrated. One didn't get into this business and not take risks.

He smiled, his rough features spiking at his hostages.

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So far, all he'd heard was two people were taken with the three intruders. But Grissom didn't often go by just what was heard.

The first thing he noticed was a bouquet of flowers on the floor. They were slightly trampled, and the petals drooped. A purse lay by the bouquet, and the ID showed it belonged to someone named Jill Parker. Other than that, the only evidence of disturbance he saw were the bullet holes in the entrance's glass doors.

But this was just part of the scene. At the back of the lobby, a double homicide awaited.

Catherine and Sara stepped carefully in the office. It was quiet, and though they knew what awaited them, nothing ever prepared someone to see a dead body.

The first victim was a woman, somewhere in her thirties, maybe early forties if she moisturized. Her arm was extended, reaching out to a fallen phone. The phone beeped repeatedly.

"Off the hook," Sara commented. She started to photograph the scene. Catherine continued on, following bits of glass and smudges of blood. It wasn't far from the first victim where the second lie.

Male, probably 40-45 years of age. He had a pool of blood around him, from the two holes in his chest.

"Shot," Catherine said, more to herself than anyone around. By the man's body was a bloody foot print. She raised her camera and snapped several shots of the body and print.

The rest of the office was in disarray. Whoever killed these people also tossed the place.

"They were looking for something," Sara said, briefly startling the more experienced CSI. Catherine tucked her bangs away from her face and nodded.

She stopped, not moving as she listened. She glanced at Sara. "Do you hear that?" Sara began to shake her head, but stopped as well.

A buzz. Or buzzing. "Where's that coming from?" Sara asked. She started to look around, and move carefully, trying to find the source.

"Back there," Catherine said, pointing to a closed door. The CSIs moved to it, and flung the door open.

In front of them was a white, sterile room. White walls. White tile floor. Cool air. And lots of black machines.

They were scattered over the floor, some crushed, and others still working. Catherine frowned at them.

"Servers," Sara filled in. "This is a server storage facility."

"So . . . they were after information? Something stored here?" Catherine said. "Then why take two hostages?"

"They felt threatened, when the patrol cars showed up." Sara shrugged. "Hostages taken like that are used very quickly. When the threats over, the hostages . . ."

"Will be killed," Catherine filled in. She sighed. "Well, let's see what we can find."

Back in the lobby, Grissom's face bleached out as he rewatched the surveillance footage. He thought maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, that maybe it was some other man in a vest that looked like a CSI. But it was Nick.

Gil vaguely recalled Nick and Warrick's case, a homicide on the Strip. He didn't know what led Nick here, but it didn't matter.

Nick was now involved in their case, and in the worse way.

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The van veered into a garage, in a suburban area. The fading light outside dimmed further as the garage door came down, enclosing them all and the vehicle.

The driver and Lane stayed inside, but the other two jumped out. Before either of the hostages knew what was going on, the back doors swung open, and Jill almost fell out. The dark-haired criminal caught her, and roughly put her on her feet.

Nick frowned at the treatment, but he could hear Lane talking.

"Dump it and careful on your way back," he said in a low tone to the driver. He got out of the van, and the driver opened up the garage door again to leave.

It was a house, and not the newest one. It must have been ten or fifteen years old, and though it could be nice, the place was obviously unused for some time.

There was a basement, and the young blonde man shoved Nick down some stairs towards it. Jill was ahead of him, being led still by the dark haired one. The basement itself was unfinished, just bare concrete and industrial carpet scraps laid down like rugs.

Lane watched with a rugged smirk on his face as his men pushed the hostages ahead. The girl quickly turned, while the crime investigator turned slowly.

Kostya, the dark haired man, signaled to his boss. He and Lane moved to the side, out of range for the hostages to hear.

"We should get rid of them," Kostya said in his garbled Russian accent. "They'll only be trouble."

Lane smiled at the younger man. "I knew you'd say that." He glanced to the hostages. "No, they'll be useful. And we can control them."

Kostya's gaze flickered to Jill, lingering a bit. "Her, yes. But him . . ."

Lane just smiled again. "Search them, Kostya," he said a little loudly, with a pointed look at his right hand man.

Kostya nodded and flicked out a knife from seemingly nowhere. He went to Nick and cut off the shoulders of the vest. He tossed the vest to the floor and patted Nick down, tossing his wallet and keys to the floor as well. It was quick but thorough.

But for Jill, Kostya changed his tone. He made the pat-down slow, and closer than necessary. His hands roamed over her smaller frame, down the sides of her torso, and over her waist. She tried to stare down Kostya, knowing he was trying to intimidate her. Even so, she squirmed.

Nick clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth. Lane watched it with a sly grin, and shot a look to Ethan, the blonde accomplice. Ethan stepped forward, his gun raised at the hostage.

Kostya let his hands wander over Jill's legs.

"Enjoying yourself?" she said with disgust. Kostya just smirked at her, but suddenly stopped. His hand lingered over her left knee, where her gray dress pants had a styled cargo pocket. He reached in and pulled out a pocket knife.

He actually seemed pleased that she had such a weapon, even if it was trivial. He tossed it over his shoulder, and lunged at her.

"No!" Nick yelled. Ethan put the gun against Nick's chest, keeping control of him. Meanwhile, Kostya pushed Jill against the bare foundational wall, and pressed his body over hers. She was kept immobile as he kissed her, hard.

She whimpered and tried to struggle, but Kostya had a good hold over her. Lane grinned, especially as the crime lab guy yelled out.

"Back off, man!"

Kostya ignored him, but finished his kiss. He gave Jill another shove, pushing off her and turning to his boss. He and Lane shared a look.

Yes. The crime scene investigator would be easy to control, as long as they had the girl as leverage.

She seemed stunned. Her back stayed against the wall, almost more to distance herself from Kostya. It almost warmed Lane's heart.

He picked through the investigator's wallet.

"Nick Stokes," Lane said aloud, studying the ID. Beside him, Kostya went through the vest, throwing aside random items that they didn't recognize.

"And your name?" Kostya asked the girl. She shuddered.

"Jill Parker," she said quickly, looking away from the man's gaze. Kostya smiled to himself. She was pretty, and easy to scare.

"Nick," Lane called loudly. "Where do you work?"


	3. Day Two

**Day** **Two**

Grissom didn't like how quiet it'd been. By now he expected to hear something, and either it'd be good news or bad—with finding live bodies or corpses.

But still nothing. Brass had the entire PD on alert for Nick.

Gil sighed as his phone's intercom beeped at him.

"Mr. Grissom," the receptionist said. "There's a package at the front desk for you."

"Okay," Gil said. He groaned as he got to his feet and stalked through the halls.

Something about the package made him frown. It was a large padded envelope, with no evidence of postage. There was no return address, but just his name and the address of the crime lab in large, block letters.

Gil took it to the breakroom and started opening it. He ignored Catherine and Warrick as they sat discussing life and tragedy over coffee.

Gil slit the envelope and poured the contents on the table. His throat tightened as a vest and various items like swabs and powder and tape lifts came out. Behind him, Catherine gasped.

On the front of the vest was the name 'Nick Stokes.' And next to it was a folded note.

"Gloves!" Gil ordered. Warrick dropped a pair on the table. Grissom quickly put them on and unfolded the note.

**_We have your investigator._**

**_We won't kill him or the girl if you do what we ask._**

**_If you don't, we'll kill them both slowly._**

**_You'll get instructions tomorrow._**

It was unsigned.

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Nick watched the blonde and dark haired men as they spoke lowly in some language he didn't understand. It was the first time he'd heard the blonde man speak.

Lane, the leader, was English. These guys were . . . Russian, or Polish, or something. At least that's how they spoke.

Suddenly the blonde one switched to English, and Nick stared as the accent seemed to be naturally British as well.

_Who are these guys?_ The dark haired guy—Kostya??—was definitely not British, and that made this all seem more dangerous. _What would bring two British guys and maybe a Russian together, in __Las Vegas_

Nick doubted it was the gambling. Or the lights.

His wrists itched beneath the rope. Their captors had switched from the tape and tied him and the girl to thick metal support poles in the basement. He was secured to one pole, while in the middle of the room, the girl, Jill, was tied to another one. She was staring at her own bindings.

He worried about her, though he knew he shouldn't show it. Kostya obviously targeted her already, and Nick didn't trust Lane or the other guy. He figured mistreating her was a way to keep him in line, and though Nick despised it, he knew he couldn't look the other way. His own conscience demanded that he not let her get hurt. And his position as a criminalist for Las Vegas PD dictated the same.

"Ethan! Kostya!" came a call from upstairs. The two men glanced towards where their leader was. "Take shifts. I need one of you now."

Ethan, which must have been the blonde, nodded to Kostya, and he left the dark haired man to watch over the hostages.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Jill shudder. She tried to bring her arms closer to her torso, as if she were cold. It _was_ a tad chilly down here, but this was still Vegas.

_Maybe her reaction was more to Kostya._ Not that Nick blamed her. He glared at Kostya, hoping the look might convince him not to harass Jill. Since the pat-down last night, Kostya hadn't done anything, but still. . . .

Across the room, and tied to the pole, Jill sat on the ground. She kept her eyes away from anything but the floor.

If she looked ahead, she saw Kostya. If she glanced to the side, she saw the cop, Nick.

Both of them gave her chills.

She was grateful to the cop. He tried to step in, get their kidnappers to let her go. And he had tried to help when Kostya . . . kissed her. Not that it made any difference, but she _was_ glad she wasn't alone in this.

Too bad he was too attractive to look at, while Kostya was just too dangerous. All she wanted was to go back in time, and hide out in that flower shop just a few moments longer. Then maybe she wouldn't have bumped into the blonde guy, Lane. Or been kidnapped. Or tied up with some shady guy staring at her. Or . . . a million things.

Jill shivered again, and this time it persisted. She suddenly stopped herself, tensing up to freeze her movement. Slowly she relaxed her muscles, and for a few moments the shivering was gone.

But then it started up again.

"You're cold," Kostya said. His voice was very rocky, definitely Russian, Jill decided. Jill didn't look up at him, but just nodded.

The Russian grabbed his jacket that hung from a chair in the otherwise empty basement. He knelt down by Jill, and she immediately froze again. She felt the jacket being placed over her shoulders, and then Kostya's hands lingering. Her breathing stopped until he seemed to sense it, and moved away.

She hated to admit, especially given the circumstances. But the whole jacket thing . . . was nice of him. She wasn't sure if that was good or not.

Very slowly, she looked up at him.

"Thank you," Jill said in the quietest voice possible. He merely nodded back but kept his eyes on her.

Jill cleared her throat, trying to assuage the awkwardness he elicited from her.

"You're name is Kostya?" she asked. Why, she wasn't sure. It probably didn't hurt to get the kidnappers to be somewhat friendly to her. Either way, Kostya raised an eyebrow at her question.

"Yes," he said. He proceeded to stare at her, and Jill found herself unable to bare it. She looked down, studying her boots.

"Is that Russian?"

It was Nick who piped up. Jill swiveled her head towards him, grateful for the distraction. Kostya, on the other hand, didn't seem as pleased.

"Yes," was the dark-haired man's short reply.

Nick nodded. "What does it mean? 'Kostya,' I mean."

Kostya flickered an annoyed glance to Nick, then settled on Jill. He spoke more to her, as if she'd asked the question. "It's short for Konstantin."

"Constantine," Jill found herself whispering. Kostya nodded, a faint but pleased smile on his lips.

"So what brought you to Vegas?" Nick piped up again. Kostya's smile was short-lived.

"I know what you're trying to do, crime scene investigator," Kostya said. His voice was low and deliberate. "You think you can find information about me, and outthink me."

Jill glanced at Nick. He didn't reply, but it was answer enough.

"What have you learned so far?" Kostya asked, pacing evenly towards Nick. The tension washed over Jill, even as she was no longer Kostya's focus.

Nick's eyes narrowed as the kidnapper advanced. "You've kept us as a bargaining chip," he said, his drawl coming out more. "My vest. Lane, or whatever his name is, wanted the address where I work. You sent the vest there as proof."

"Proof of what?" Kostya asked, his head tilting to the side.

"Proof that you have me. For a ransom," Nick added. Kostya smiled.

"Very good, Nick Stokes." Kostya turned away, and approached Jill. She found herself leaning away from him, but Kostya didn't seem to care. He reached a hand towards her, slipped it in the jacket with his hand brushing her torso. Just as quickly, he withdrew his hand clutching a long strip of cloth.

"I had hoped you were intelligent," Kostya said, turning back to Nick. "You proved me correct. But you talk too much."

He quickly wrapped the cloth over Nick's mouth, tying the cloth in a knot behind his head. Nick grunted into the cloth, but Kostya didn't seem to care.

He turned back to face Jill.

She gulped. Kostya walked towards her, and each step seemed to vibrate through her. But he didn't stop as he reached her. He walked by, and up the stairs, leaving Jill and Nick alone.

Jill couldn't help but breathe out loudly in relief.

She ventured a glance at Nick. He didn't seem comfortable, but neither of them were. She watched him as he leaned towards the pole, using his bound hands to tug at the gag. It took a few moments, but he got it off.

"Much better," he mumbled. He looked her way, and suddenly seemed at a loss for words.

"Thank you," she said quickly to cover the moment. "For standing up for me. And for trying to get them to let me go."

He didn't answer, maybe a bit unsure of what she was saying.

"You didn't have to do that. It was . . . brave of you," she continued. "Thanks."

She started to study her boots again when Nick spoke.

"I'm sorry it didn't work," he said. That Southern drawl caused a shiver to go through her. She shrugged politely, brushing it off. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "To be honest," she started, "I'm glad I'm not alone." Nick smiled.

"Well for your sake, I wish I were alone," he said. "But it _is_ nice to have company."

Another silence settled between them, during which Jill studied the man. There was no contest to how attractive he was—face it, Nick was just fine. He had that firm jawline that seemed so fitting for someone in law enforcement. Yet his eyes were intense and soft at the same time. Jill was impressed—if nothing else, he was kind, and he'd proven that time and again since she met him.

"So where are you from?" Nick asked. Jill shrugged.

"All over. My dad's in California now," she said.

Nick sensed a lot was left out of that answer, and decided to move on. "What brought you to Vegas?"

"School," she said shortly. "I'm getting my masters at UNLV." Her brown eyes flickered to him. "Computer Science."

Nick nodded. "Difficult field," he commented. Jill merely shrugged again.

"Everyone has their strengths," she said. "So how long has it been since you moved from Texas?"

Nick looked surprised. "The accent," he said finally, realizing how she knew. "It's been a few years."

"Why'd you leave?"

It was Nick's turn to shrug. "I wanted to get out on my own. I love my family and all, but it was time to try something new."

"Crime scene investigator?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. Nick gave a short laugh and nodded.

"Yeah."

"Sounds . . . difficult."

Nick flashed her a winning grin. "Everyone has their strengths."


	4. Day Three

**a/n:** I'm not sure how much people are enjoying this, but I promise to post what I've written. Thanks to those of you who've reviewed!

**Day Three**

Warrick had a few choice phrases come to mind when he read the newest note. He wanted to run around and hit something. Hodges was hovering close by, and Warrick almost considered him, but decided now wasn't a time to get suspended.

His eyes scanned the note again.

**_To Gil Grissom and friends,_**

**_You will obtain information from the server for Kannell Corp. The information must be complete, either recovered from the server at the storage facility or through your own channels. If the information is corrupt or changed in any way, Nick Stokes and Jill Parker will die. _**

**_You have two days._**

Warrick already checked out this Kannell Corp. They were based somewhere in Spain, and no one there seemed to care to call the Las Vegas PD back. They did have a server at the data storage facility, but it was damaged.

"Why didn't they take the info they wanted?" Warrick asked. Behind him, Gil paced and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"The employees are dead," Grissom said.

"And the police showed up," Catherine added. "Maybe someone hit an alarm."

"Alarms at a server farm?" Warrick questioned.

"Information is power," Grissom said. Beside him, Sara frowned.

"Okay," she said slowly, processing everything they'd said, "so what information does Kannell Corp have that would interest these guys enough to use it as ransom for Nick?"

Greg butted in, elbowing Hodges aside. The annoying alternate lab tech was still hovering, but moved to let Greg into the conversation. Greg placed a sheet of paper in front of everyone.

"Company profile for Kannell Corp," he introduced. "They're not well known, but they're a brokerage firm, of sorts—catering to the extremely, sickening wealthy people. Donald Trump used to be a client until the Taj Mahal casino teetered on bankruptcy."

"Exclusive. So information to accounts of the obscenely rich. They were trying to steal it, probably," Sara said. "But why would Kannell have a server out here?"

"Security," Catherine answered. "You spread out your information, and Las Vegas may be far enough to be considered safe."

"Obviously not safe enough," Warrick said. "But Kannell doesn't seem concerned. They haven't gotten back to Brass or to me."

"Which brings us to the issue," Gil summed up. "What do we do about this ransom?" His cell phone rang before anyone could think up an answer.

It was Brass.

"Yes?"

"We just barely missed one of your kidnappers."

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Lane drove back quickly to the house, speeding moderately in the car he just stole. The other vehicle that Lane's getaway man had arranged had been . . . detected. By now, LVPD was probably swarming over it, and the lifeless body of the driver . . . .

He didn't really like killing the man, especially since it threw a wrench in his already messed up plans. But the driver had proven stupid. The car he arranged after he dumped the van was just too easy to trace.

Lane had barely avoided capture after a brief car chase.

He scowled at the house ahead of him and tried to tell himself to be composed. He had to be stern but not psychotic to control Kostya and Ethan, and the hostages. He braked with a screech of the tires in the garage, and threw out the idea of being composed.

He was ticked.

Ethan picked up on it immediately. He wasn't a very bold or courageous man—Ethan hardly qualified as more than a kid, but for all his weakness and cowardice, he was loyal and did follow through.

Kostya and Ethan were eating something in the kitchen.

"Who's watching them?" Lane snarled at his men. Ethan seemed intimidated, but Kostya looked bored.

"They're tied up, Lane," Kostya said. "They're fine."

That wasn't the answer Lane was looking for. It annoyed him, actually, and he quickly descended in the basement to see for himself.

Sure enough, the investigator and the girl were secure. They must have picked up on his mood as well, because neither moved a muscle or said a thing.

Their silence fueled him. He stormed up to Jill and flicked out a knife from his jacket. She flinched at the sight of the blade, even more so when he rough cut away the ropes. He jerked her to her feet.

Even though she was free of the bonds, she could sense danger. Lane grabbed her by the arm, noticing the jacket she wore was Kostya's. That annoyed him too, and he flung her to Kostya, who'd followed his friend.

Kostya caught the girl with a frown, but held her still. Lane turned to Nick next.

"Nick Stokes," he said, a slight pant to his voice. He turned back to Jill, pointing the knife at her. "Can your lab identify blood to a single person?"

The CSI frowned, not likely where this was going with Jill being held. Lane moved on his hesitation.

He wrenched the girl from Kostya and tore the jacket from off her shoulders. He shoved her back to Kostya and pressed the tip of the blade into her upper arm.

Jill bit back a cry even as blood started to fall. Her whole body tightened, trying to shut out the pain. Her breathing quickened, and oddly, she could tell Kostya's did too.

But Lane was unaffected, even as Nick objected.

"Wait! Yes!" he said. "They can ID someone by blood."

Lane stopped, but he didn't remove the blade's tip from Jill's arm.

"Would they be able to ID, say, her blood?"

Nick was quick to answer this time. "If she's in the system, yes. But I doubt she's in the database."

Lane twisted the blade's tip in her arm.

Jill cried out and tried to shrink away from the pain. Kostya glared at Lane, but held her still.

"Hey!" Nick protested. "Look, they'll know it's female blood, if that helps."

Lane halted the pressure, thinking, and then removed the blade. Jill gasped, more so when Lane ripped her sleeve off at the shoulder seam. Her blood had soaked the sleeve, and it still ran down her arm.

The sleeve and knife in hand, Lane turned to Nick. He quickly sliced the CSI's arm, and pressed the sleeve to his blood.

And then Lane turned and left, taking the bloody sleeve with him.

Kostya quickly tied Jill's hands back to the pole. He seemed almost apologetic about it, but followed his boss out, taking the stairs two at a time.

"Are you okay?" Nick asked after the shock wore off. He winced a bit at his cut, but knew it was nowhere near as painful as Jill's. She merely nodded. Despite the blood trail, Nick couldn't help but notice how defined her arm was. Slender, but built in the right places. It was . . .

Nick cleared his throat. "I think Kostya and Lane are going to have it out."

Jill tilted her head to the side. "What makes you say that?"

"Kostya didn't seem too happy about what Lane did," Nick said. "The way he ran out, after Lane . . . something must have happened. Either way, Kostya didn't like the whole knife thing."

"Well he didn't do anything to stop it," Jill grumbled. The air stung at the puncture in her arm, but she had no way to stop it—not with her hands tied.

"You didn't see his face," Nick said. Jill frowned.

"What are you getting at?"

The gentleman in Nick didn't want to get to that point just yet. But things were escalating, and it may be a way to protect her . . .

"Kostya . . . likes you," Nick said. He instantly felt like a fifth grader in a lunch room. "It may be enough to keep you safe."

Before she could digest that, they heard yelling above them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You killed him?!" Kostya repeated, referring to the driver. Lane looked like he was between boredom and exploding at the Russian.

"He screwed up, Kostya," Lane said slowly and forcefully. "The police nearly had me."

"So why torture the girl?" Kostya asked. He unfolded his arms and kept them at his sides. The stance didn't go unnoticed by Lane, or Ethan, who was cowering in the corner of the kitchen.

"A warning to the police. They need to back off."

Kostya switched to Russian. "_We've kidnapped own of their own. I think they got the threat."_

Lane smirked at the dark-haired man. "_What bothers you more, that I killed the moron or hurt the girl?_"

Kostya straightened his stance but didn't say anything.

_"We've been through a lot, side by side. You were a soldier. Don't forget who you are. And don't let your regard for her get in the way_," Lane warned. He switched back to English, even though Ethan understood both languages. "Ethan. Send the bloody cloth and the next instructions to the police."

Lane turned and left, disappearing to the back of the house. Kostya didn't try to hide a glare at the man's back. He sighed, flickering a glance at Ethan, who never said much. The young blonde man retreated to the garage.

Kostya rummaged through the mostly-bare cabinets until he found bandages and rubbing alcohol. Then he went back down to the basement.

The hostages were quiet, and Kostya could see pain on Jill's face. It made him grimace as well.

He knelt by her side, and when he touched her arm, he felt her muscles tense. Her skin was cold too.

He kept glancing at her as he readied the supplies, not daring to say anything. He wasn't sure what to say. He uncapped the alcohol but hesitated before pouring it over the wound.

"This will hurt a little," he said, his voice deeper and huskier than usual. She nodded and he poured some of the disinfectant over it. She drew in a sharp breath and bit her lip.

Kostya wrapped the wound, carefully winding the bandage tight over her arm. She watched him work, and the feel of her gaze on him suddenly made Kostya nervous. He finished by wiping away the blood on her arm.

"Thank you," Jill said. He merely nodded and moved away to pick up his jacket off the floor where Lane had thrown it earlier. He replaced it over her shoulders and moved to Nick.

He didn't really want to help the CSI, but he knew Jill was watching. He made his bedside manner less pleasant, especially with the alcohol, but soon Nick was patched up. Kostya turned to leave, glancing over his shoulder at Jill one more time.

She offered him the tiniest of smiles. Kostya left before such a foreign thing could surface on his face.

------------------------------------------------------------------

His arm throbbed a bit, a dull reminder of the early events of the evening. It was getting late, and Jill looked like she was asleep. But her chest didn't have the calm, rhythmic rise and fall that one sleeping would normally have.

Nick's heart went out to her. Of all the people to be involved . . . he didn't want her to be hurt. Too late.

"I'm sorry," he said, breaking the silence. Jill shifted and straightened up. Her right arm was bare except for the bandage, and as she moved it, she winced. "I should have . . . They wouldn't have hurt you if I'd spoken faster."

"They wanted blood, Nick," she said. "Lane came down here asking about it. He meant to hurt me." Nick knew that of course, but it didn't lessen the guilt he felt.

It must have been worn openly on his face. "Nick," she said, getting him to look at her. "Really. I'll be fine."

A small measure of relief came to him, and he smiled. She returned it, and the light of her face, the beauty—it made him realize how beautiful she was. He knew this wasn't a time for romance, but maybe . . . maybe when this was all over.

He cleared his throat, embarrassed by his thoughts. He had to get himself, and Jill, out of this. He could deal with anything that happened to him—he'd proven that with several of life's less than pleasant experiences—but if anything happened to someone in his care . . . He wasn't in charge of her, per say, but he considered himself her last line of defense.

Or maybe her second to last defense. If Nick was released before she was, he wouldn't be able to protect her. That scared him, especially with Lane and Kostya around. But Kostya had shown genuine care for her, even if his treatment started out rough. Kostya just might be the only one left to protect Jill. Nick certainly didn't trust Lane, especially given the tension arising between him and Kostya.

"What are you thinking about?" Jill asked. Nick almost jumped, as if he'd been caught. He shook his head.

"You," he said. "I mean, what will happen to you." She didn't follow him, so he continued. "They eventually will trade us for what they want. But I'm afraid they'll keep one of us back."

"Who would they choose?" Jill asked. Nick shook his head.

"I don't know. It depends on who they feel will give them more leverage." And realistically, that meant Nick. He was okay with that. As long as Jill wasn't held captive, he wouldn't be afraid to escape. He sighed. "Jill."

"Yeah?" She awkwardly tried to tuck her hair behind an ear, with her tied hands.

"If they do keep one of us after the trade, and if it's you . . ." Nick trailed off. She had to have someone on her side. "Kostya may be your only protection."

Jill coughed.

"I don't think Kostya has protecting me in mind," she said.

"Yes, he does. And it may be motivated by—by desire, or whatever," Nick said, "but it might be enough."

Jill frowned, her forehead scrunched together as she tried to see where he was going with this.

"What makes you think the police won't stop any of this from happening?" Jill asked. "You're one of them. Do you think Lane will get away?"

Nick sighed again, frustrated. He bowed his head and rubbed his hands in his hair. "It's a possibility."

"How can you say that?"

Nick shut his eyes as he replied. "Because we're still here."

The silence that followed fed each of them thoughts that they didn't necessarily want to acknowledge. Jill finally broke it.

"Lane and Kostya have some sort of history," she said slowly. "They've barely met me. Why would Kostya risk his . . . partnership with Lane over me?"

"He might not," Nick said, taking a deep breath. "That's why you have to make sure he likes you."

Another deafening silence. Nick could tell Jill didn't like that. With each moment that passed, he could almost feel the discomfort mounting.

Her voice was cold, distant. "How?"

Nick could almost taste the disgust in her voice, and he hated himself. But he persisted, even as it chipped down the gentleman he always tried to be. This wasn't about niceties. It was about survival.

"Get to know him. Talk to him. Give him reason to hope."

"Nick," Jill said, "Kostya isn't the type to pine after a girl. He's not looking for a girlfriend."

"Probably not," Nick admitted. "But if he cares for you enough, he'll protect you."

Jill huffed at that. "I'm not helpless. I can protect myself."

"Not from Lane."

Jill rolled her eyes. "Do you realize what you're really asking?" she asked, her voice rising. "You're not asking me just to be his friend. Simple conversation won't prove it alone."

"It might," Nick objected, albeit weakly. She sighed and turned her back to him. "Look. Don't do anything you don't have to, or want to. Just . . . be safe."

She didn't answer him. Nick hoped she would, hoped he could smooth out the unpleasantness of this conversation. But she stayed quiet. Inside, Nick kicked himself. His mind battled between what he knew would protect her if it came to that, and what no person should ask anyone unwilling to do.


	5. Day FourPart 1

a/n: "Day Five" may take me a bit, so give me a few days. Also this 'day' is really long, so I've broken it up into two parts.

**Day Four—Part 1**

The nightshift practically took turns vulturing around Archie as the poor kid worked frantically to hack into the damaged server. Kannell Corp had yet to call back, and being overseas, LVPD could only extend so far for help.

So, unbeknownst to Ecklie, Grissom authorized at least looking at what the fuss was all about.

The information was encrypted, but Archie had expected as much with data this sensitive. He'd said, though, that the data was definitely financial—bank numbers, account balances, bank locations, and of course names that frequently made it on the richest-men-in-the-world list.

Catherine and Grissom took a break from hovering as they sat in his office. The latest note had arrived, along with a bloody strip of fabric.

"Greg said there were two DNAs. Nick's, and XX," Catherine summed up. "So probably the girl, Jill."

They hadn't found out much about the girl, other than she was a graduate student at UNLV. Her family, which only consisted of a father, was in California. He hadn't come to Vegas yet, and frankly, Gil was glad.

Gil didn't really acknowledge Catherine's summary, but he looked over the note. It instructed them to have the data on an external hard drive. They were supposed to deliver it tomorrow night at 11 p.m.

"Are you going to give it to them?" Catherine asked. She swept her blonde bangs from her face and waited for an answer. Gil swiveled slowly in his chair, taking his time.

"That depends on who they are and what they intend to do to Jill Parker and Nick."

Catherine took a deep breath.

"We haven't found anything about any of the kidnappers. Whoever they are, they aren't in any of our databases. Another dead end," she said. "They won't release them both. Not until they check the data. Which brings me back to my question."

"I'm not thrilled about handing off this information to them, assuming we can crack it," Gil said. "But I'm not thrilled about risking anyone's life, especially Nick's."

"What about tracking it?"

Gil sighed. "Yeah, we'll probably have to do that. I just don't like where that'll lead us."

Catherine frowned. "Where will that lead us?"

"We'll find out, I guess."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

It was early morning, but the basement light stayed on. Nick was restless. He could only sleep so long in such an uncomfortable position, and he wasn't used to all this down time.

He tried to figure out what was going on. It'd been four days now, and frankly, so little activity had Nick worried. Lane, Kostya and Ethan had to be planning something. They wouldn't hold them forever. Some trade had to be upcoming. But yet they waited.

He wondered how the lab was doing. The blood would worry them—Nick knew it was a warning to them to not cross Lane.

Lane—he was losing the respect of his men. Well, Kostya at least. And Nick could tell Kostya was stronger than Ethan. He might just challenge Lane. But it depended on how far Lane pushed him. And how close Jill got to Kostya.

Nick scowled. He didn't want to push her towards this, but he didn't want her to get hurt either.

"Don't do anything you don't have to, or want to," he had said. In retrospect, that hadn't been the subtlest of hints. In fact, since he'd said that, Jill had been quiet.

Across the room and attached to the other pole, Jill pretended to sleep. Her back was turned on Nick, but her eyes were wide open.

She knew Nick was right. She'd had the same thoughts, that she could use an ally among the kidnappers. But what Nick implied, what he suggested . . . she had expected better of him.

Jill was disappointed. Somewhere inside of her, it'd made her feel let down. It reinforced the idea she'd long converted to: she couldn't count on anyone. She hadn't in some time, which was why she was on her own in Las Vegas, with no family close by. Her friends were more like acquaintances, and while she liked being with them, suspicion kept her aside.

To his credit, albeit little, Nick _had_ said to not do anything she didn't have to. Jill frowned though. He'd basically asked her to play to Kostya's desires.

Footsteps thumped down the stairs until Kostya came into view. Jill shifted and watched him. He carried two plates of food.

"Breakfast," he announced simply. He put Nick's plate on the ground and slid it to him, but for Jill he set the plate down gently.

The food didn't appeal much. Toast and an egg. They'd fed her and Nick, but simple and quick things. More than anything she craved fruit.

She also wanted a shower. On the second night, they'd allowed it. Jill took a deep breath.

"Kostya," she said, her voice meek. She hated that, but she couldn't deny the fear she had for him. The Russian looked her in the eye. "Can I take a shower?"

He nodded, and cut off the ropes around her hands.

Jill didn't even glance at Nick as she went upstairs, with Kostya behind her.

The Russian stopped her before she disappeared into the bathroom.

"I . . ." he started. He cleared his throat and tried again, this time reaching for a bag on the floor. "Here are some clothes." He passed her the bag, and stepped back.

Jill stared at it, then back at Kostya. She hadn't expected this from him. A quick glance at the bag showed at least a few days' worth of clothing. She wasn't sure what to say, but settled on nodding to him.

After her shower, she found that the clothes were newly bought—or stolen. But they were nice. Kostya had even bothered with, um, underclothing. That made Jill's face flush, but she wasn't complaining. New clothes were relatively clean clothes.

She chose a pair of jeans that fit snugly, and a black short-sleeved v-neck. She stared at her reflection. Her wet brown hair hung down, slightly tangled though she tried to comb through it with her fingers. Her face hadn't seen makeup in awhile, but she looked decent without it. She inspected the clothes and adjusted the shirt before leaving the bathroom.

Kostya was reading something in the kitchen, not far from the bathroom, when she came out. He looked up and did a double-take. Jill instantly felt a bit self-conscious. Nick's words came back to her, and she realized she was tensing up again.

Lane sat by the Russian, and shot Jill an amused look.

"You haven't eaten," Kostya said, finding his voice. "Did you want something else?"

Lane shot his friend a look and said something in Russian that Jill knew was about her. Kostya looked annoyed, but waited for her answer.

"Do you have an orange?" she asked. It drew amused smiled from both men.

"She doesn't like your cooking," Lane said. Kostya again looked annoyed, and mumbled some reply to the Brit in Russian. Even so, he nodded to a bag on the counter.

Jill rummaged through it and found an orange. She started looking around for something to cut it with, and opened a drawer. As soon as she grasped one of the knives therein, it dawned on her. She could level the playing field, or at least lessen the disadvantage she had.

Before she could cut the orange, or turn the tables on her kidnappers, she was grabbed from behind.

It was Lane. He squeezed her hand hard until she dropped the knife. Then he turned her around to face him. His eyes bore into her, and he gripped her arms harder. It hurt the cut on her right arm, but she refused to cry. He slammed her against the fridge.

"What were you thinking?" he said lowly. Jill's eyes were wide open, and a gulp was her only response. Lane slammed her again, and Jill grunted with a wince at the impact.

Behind Lane, Kostya stood, his hands clenched. Lane was well-aware of it.

"_You underestimate her,"_ Lane said in Russian. "_You may want her, but she's only thinking about escaping._"

"_Let her go_," Kostya said, his eyes shifting between Lane and the frightened Jill. "_She's done nothing._"

Lane just smirked at the Russian. He looked back at Jill. "_She's pretty. You've kissed her; how does she taste?"_

Without waiting for any response, Lane leaned in and kissed Jill. It was rough, his lips pushing hard against hers. Kostya started forward a step before he stopped himself.

If he reacted, he would be proving Lane right. So he stood there, immobilized as Lane continued to kiss Jill, even as she tried to push him away. It seemed like an eternity before Lane ended it.

He tossed Jill across the room, into a chair. She landed roughly but froze as soon as she was stable enough. Even so, her eyes were alight with fury.

"_Not bad,"_ Lane said, continuing in Russian.

"_Not at all,"_ Kostya said. He feigned a grin at the Brit. "_Like an orange._"

"_Refreshing_," Lane added. Finally the blonde man laughed and switched to English. "Put her downstairs." He left the room.

Despite the language barrier, Jill looked betrayed. It actually made Kostya feel guilty, though the soldier in him demanded he not care.

Ethan suddenly came into the kitchen, and Kostya swiftly put him to work.

"Take her down, and bring the cop for a shower," Kostya said. Ethan nodded, and grabbed Jill by the elbow.

She wouldn't look at him as she left, and Kostya was glad. He wanted nothing more than to go shoot something. Or stab. Or hit.

His eyes settled on the orange.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Nick shot her worried glances as he was led out of the basement. He raised an eyebrow at the new clothes, but Jill just shook her head. She didn't want to talk to him and was glad to be left alone in the basement.

It only lasted a few minutes.

She heard footsteps, and instead of Ethan or Nick, it was Kostya. A tremor went through Jill.

His steps were slow, cautious. In his hands was a plate, with a sliced and peeled orange. He didn't kneel this time, but actually sat on the ground in front of her. He pushed the plate towards her.

She could use her hands, but it was awkward at best as they were tied around that pole. Before she could stumble with it, Kostya stabbed a slice with a fork and held it up to her. She eyed it, then him before leaning in and taking a bite.

Jill chewed slowly. She kept her eyes anywhere but on the Russian. He offered her a second slice.

"I'm sorry about Lane," he said in his garbled accent. Her eyes flickered to him.

"Why are you apologizing for him?" She emphasized 'him,' though Kostya missed it.

"He's my friend," he said. Jill shifted slightly away from the Russian.

"You need new friends," she said. Kostya looked a little grim at that, but slowly smiled. Jill took the orange slice in her mouth and chewed.

"Did he hurt you?" Kostya asked. His tone was . . . afraid. Maybe not about the truth so much as what she would say. With that, Jill knew she could play this a certain way, just as Nick had said. The fact that Kostya was down here, feeding her oranges, was evidence enough that Nick was right.

She hated him for that, at the moment.

Jill shook her head, even though she could see bruises on her arms from where he held her. Kostya actually sighed out in relief.

"Do you still live in Russia?" Jill asked. It was small talk, but it was better than awkward silence. And it pleased the man.

"My family is there," he said. "I . . . move a lot." He had a slightly far off look in his eyes, and Jill knew there was more to it than that.

"Do you miss them?" It was hard to imagine such a man would, but he did nod.

"And you? Where is your family?" he asked.

Jill didn't answer for several moments. She wasn't one to just share things like this. But Kostya had been honest with her. She took a deep breath.

"My father lives in California," she said. "We're not on the best of terms."

"Why not?"

Another deep breath. Jill didn't really want to go into this, but Kostya waited for an answer. In fact, the more she paused to collect herself, the more patient he seemed. Somehow, that made her tell him.

"He—my mother disappeared ten years ago. I know my father's responsible, but the police couldn't prove it enough." Jill looked at her hands. She flexed her fingers. "I stay away from him."

Despite the news, Kostya offered a sympathetic look.

"You have no other family?" he asked. Jill kept her eyes on her hands.

"No one I can count on."

Kostya slowly reached for her, touching her face so she'd look at him. It startled her at first, until she told herself to calm down. She stared at him and his eyes looked deep into hers. Jill found herself thinking that the darkness in his eyes wasn't scary anymore. She felt his thumb move back and forth, caressing her cheek.

Someone coughed behind them. Jill pulled back slightly, and saw Ethan and Nick standing there. Ethan pushed Nick along and retied him to the pole. Kostya stood, shooting a glare to Ethan behind his back. Jill almost grinned at that, until she remembered what just happened.

Kostya opened his mouth, but closed it a second later. He settled on flashing Jill a smile and going upstairs. Ethan left after him, shooting Jill an amused look.

Nick, however, was not amused. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to bite back what he felt. He didn't like this, and he vocalized his reaction.

"That was quick," he said. He was surprised at how bitter he sounded.

"What?" she hissed at him. "I thought you'd be happy." There was some smugness in that last bit, and it just aggravated Nick more.

"What's with the new clothes?" he asked. His jaw was so tight, it felt like it would snap. "Did you pack a bag?"

She glared at him.

"Kostya got them for me."

"Interesting," Nick commented lamely. He wasn't blind to how closely the clothes hugged her frame—no doubt Kostya's intention. Ordinarily he might not have complained, but like everything else between Jill and Kostya, it bugged him! "I didn't get any new clothes."

From across the room, he could see her roll her eyes. "Well, if he was gay and you were seducing him, maybe you would've gotten some."

'Seducing' was a slap in the face. It's not what he'd said, not what he wanted. He just wanted her safe. But seeing the plan in action . . . Nick fought the urge to yell. He took a deep breath.

"Look, Jill," he started, "I just don't want you to . . ." How could he word this? "I don't want him taking advantage of you." He winced, hoping she wouldn't—

"Isn't that what I'm supposed to do? Take advantage of him, be taken advantage of?" She huffed. "Come out and say whatever it is, Nick, because you communicate like a lab rat."

Nick tried not to react to that. She was being difficult right back to him.

"Jill." He took another deep breath. "I guess I'm having second thoughts."

"Why?"

Crap. He wasn't sure why. Or he didn't want to put a reason to it. Either way, he couldn't answer.

"Just be careful," he settled on. Immediately, it felt defeatist, and Nick almost slumped over, giving up.

"Shut up, Nick," she said back.

He sighed and turned away from her.

She'd wasted no time getting cozy with Kostya. Why did that bother him? The new clothes, the orange which Jill now tried to eat, his hand on her face . . . Nick felt his stomach churn.

He told himself to cool it. If Kostya got closer to her, Jill would be safer, right? But it felt so . . . wrong. He tried to ignore the nagging in his mind that it might be more than that.


	6. Day FourPart 2

**Day Four – Part 2**

"Ethan," Lane called out. He shook his head, airing out his longer hair. The younger blonde man turned to Lane. "Let's go."

It was 10 p.m., more than 24 hours till they made the trade for the information. Not just information—for a change in all their lives, once the info was put in play. Each of them had their own plans. Lane knew what he'd do next. Ethan did too. Kostya, though, wasn't sure anymore.

"Kostya!" The Russian turned to Lane. "Keep watch. We're running through tomorrow's plan."

The dark haired man nodded, and the two blonde Brits left. He breathed a little easier when they were gone. Immediately his thoughts turned to Jill.

That wasn't good. He was above this. He'd been working for years to find a job like this, an opportunity that would change everything. It could still work too, he told himself. He was confident the trade would go as planned. It was afterwards that he was worried about.

Something Lane had said bothered him. He'd said that Jill would try to escape. Kostya didn't know what the hell was going in his mind or heart, but he knew the situation could be dangerous. Yet he didn't want to doubt her. As always, though, the soldier in him demanded he do something.

He took his gun from the back of his pants. He took out the clip and removed all the bullets, also the one in the chamber. The bullets he hid in a drawer, but he left the gun on the counter.

Kostya went down to the basement. It was quiet, and tension filled the air. He frowned. Something was going on between Jill and Nick. What, he didn't know. Impulsively, he wanted to hit Nick. Or, more importantly, he just wanted to be with Jill.

Her eyes seemed to light up when she saw him. He went to her side, and cut the ropes again.

"Come," he said simply. She followed him up to the kitchen, where he motioned for her to sit. She sat, but was stiff. Nervous.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He started rummaging through the cabinets, trying to find something decent to eat.

"What do you mean?" Jill asked back. Kostya nodded to the basement stairs. She sighed. "It's nothing." Kostya didn't buy that, but he let it go.

"Are you hungry?" He turned away to find a pan. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her staring at the gun. Part of him tensed at that. But he continued to prepare something.

"It's late," she said. "I don't usually eat now."

Kostya flashed her a grin. "Yes, but you should eat more." She granted him a consenting grin. "I'll make _basturma_—how do you say this?" He paused a moment, thinking about it. What _was_ it called? It was starting to annoy him—

"Well, what is it?" Jill asked. She wore laughter on her face, but tried to hide it from him. Kostya found it charming, even if it was at his expense.

"It's . . ." He started to gesture with his hands. "Meat, cut in blocks. You cook it on . . . ." The word evaded him again, and he drew out his hands in a line.

"Skewers?" Jill filled in. Kostya's lit up.

"Yes!"

"Kabobs. Or kebabs—same thing."

Kostya cocked his head to the side. "Ka-bobs?" Jill nodded. He chuckled. "My vocabulary is not so good in cooking."

Jill laughed, and he couldn't deny that he craved the sound. He turned away from her again, and opened the fridge. The raw meat sat ready in a container on the bottom shelf.

He readied the sauce for the meat, all the while feeling her eyes on him.

"How long have you known Lane?" Jill asked. He hadn't expected that question, and his hands paused mid-air as he reached for some wine vinegar.

"Six years. I met him when I was in the military," he said. He poured the wine vinegar, maybe a bit too liberally, but it would do.

"I thought Lane was British," Jill said. Kostya smiled.

"He is. So is Ethan," he said.

"Weren't you on different sides then?"

Kostya laughed, shaking his head. The simplicity of her thinking on this surprised him, and yet he found it endearing.

"It's not a matter of sides, or country," he explained. He stopped his efforts with the sauce, and turned to face her. She watched him attentively. "I don't believe in following one country."

"Didn't the Russian army find that . . . dangerous?"

Kostya laughed again, a bit uncomfortably though. "I suppose so." He turned back to the meal, getting out an onion and chopping it. "I do what I want. I don't rely on a government or even comrades."

"Isn't Lane a comrade?"

Kostya chewed on his lip. She was digging, for what reason he wasn't quite sure yet. "I don't rely on him."

Jill nodded, a sad demeanor coming over her. Maybe it was sympathy. "Then who do you rely on?"

A cold shield came over him as he turned back to her. "Me." The simple word resonated in the house, though he hadn't said it loudly. It thudded like a final sentencing.

"You know," he said simply. "You are the same way." Jill's brow crinkled in confusion. "Your father. What family you have, you don't count, remember?"

She didn't answer, but her eyes conveniently found the floor.

"It is lonely, yes?" he said, pressing her further. She only nodded back. Kostya smiled, and went to the sink, washing off the sauce and onion. He went for the meat again. As he grabbed it, he heard her move behind him.

He didn't bother whirling around or surprising her. But he frowned as he faced her. She stood there, the gun from the counter in her hands.

Kostya didn't say anything, but set the meat aside. He waited for her to make the next move.

"Please," she said. She started to back away from him, and she motioned to the back hallway with the gun. "I don't want to hurt you." Kostya scoffed at that. He moved towards her, even as she gripped the gun harder. The trigger was so close to being pulled. . .

The click of it made Jill jump. Knowing she would have shot him landed an emotional bullet in Kostya, but he told himself to ignore it. He moved in on her, brushing the gun aside. It clattered on the linoleum floor.

Kostya drove her back to the wall, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head. She was breathing hard. Her eyes were large and in some ways mirrored the surprise that he felt.

He leaned in on her, pressing against her and moving his face just inches from hers.

"I'm disappointed, Jill," he said in her ear.

"Kostya, please—"

"What?" he cut her off, almost hissing at her. "Do you want to kill me?" He pulled back a bit to glare into her eyes. She started to shake her head.

"No, please, Kostya—"

Suddenly he pulled out his knife from a pocket and slammed it in the wall by her head. Jill screamed and tried to duck, but he still held her wrists up. Something about the terror fueled Kostya. He embraced it, for now.

Below in the basement, Kostya heard the CSI shouting. He smirked. Nick Stokes was trying to protect her from down there.

Kostya held onto her wrists and pulled her along behind him. He went downstairs. If Nick wanted to intervene, he could see for himself what was going on. As soon as they stepped off the last stair, Kostya flung Jill across the room. She stumbled, a cry escaping her throat. Kostya followed her with determined steps. He picked her up and slammed her against the wall. Again he pinned her wrists above her head.

"Leave her alone!" Nick yelled out. Kostya ignored his protests.

Jill stared, wide-eyed. Her eyes were moist, and she was failing to keep back sobs of her fear.

"Please," she whispered. A tear suddenly fell, and Kostya almost stepped back as if he'd been hit. He felt . . . his mind raced, his heart pounded inside of him, and something stung at his eyes. He blinked quickly and tightened his grip on her.

Suddenly he leaned in, closing in so there was no distance between them. He could hear Nick shouting behind him, but again he banished it. He kissed her, his lips hot and wandering over hers. He felt the vibrations of her cries against him. It didn't stop him. He continued, dropping one hand to rest on her hip. He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss.

Somewhere in it all, she started kissing him back. There was desperation, for both of them. Pain, terror, absolution, passion. What it meant, Kostya didn't know, but he wasn't concentrating on that. It dawned on him that maybe he should.

Suddenly he pulled back, releasing Jill completely. He couldn't look her in the eye, and neither could she look back at him. He kept trying, but his eyes couldn't hold the gaze. He reached for her hands, this time less violently, and led her to the pole. He quickly tied her to it with new rope, and ran up the stairs.

The silence he left in the basement was one of astonishment. Horror. Pain. Nick's chest hurt from the pounding of his heart, the rapid pace of his pulse. Rage. That's what he felt as he watched, could do nothing but watch, as Kostya devoured Jill.

And now, she positioned herself so she could lie down. Her back was to him, and her knees she tucked into her chest. It was as if she was trying to compress her existence as much as possible. She didn't cry anymore. In fact, she was amazingly still. No sobbing, no sniffling, nothing.

Nick swallowed.

"Jill?"

She didn't answer.

"Jill, please. Talk to me," he tried again. But she didn't move or make a sound. Guilt kicked Nick in the stomach.

What had happened? Did Kostya try . . . Nick gulped again. He hoped that hadn't happened. All Nick heard was Jill scream. Just remembering made a chill run through him. The worse-case scenario ran through his mind. And somewhere it also triggered memories from his childhood, memories he certainly didn't want to remember or have someone else experience.

Nick shoved his past away. "Jill," he called softly. She didn't move, but he heard the smallest whisper:

"What."

Her voice—so small, hurting—it made the guilt hit home again.

"What happened?"

She didn't say anything for several moments, and Nick feared the nightmare.

"Did he—"

She sighed, and Nick shut up to listen. "He left the gun out. I went for it. And it was empty."

Nick shut his eyes, imagining it. Kostya had placed a trap for her. And Jill fell for it. If he'd been in the situation, he would have too.

Her brief explanation didn't elaborate on Kostya's reaction, but Nick supposed he saw most of that for himself. Jill didn't say anything more, though—to him, that was a red flag.

"Is that all? Are you okay?" he asked.

"Fine," she said. There was a certain finality in the word, shutting him down. Nick stared at her, her fragile form. He didn't know what it was, but she wasn't telling him something. It reminded him of how he'd acted when . . .

His heart ached for her, and he could only think of one thing: _What have I done?_

_----------------------------------------------------_

a/n: I hope everyone likes this! I enjoy writing it, but am losing steam/motivation based on the reception. But thanks for those reviews that've been submitted! I'll have a new chapter relatively soon (2 days-ish).


	7. Day Five

a/n: Thank you so much for all the encouragement and feedback. In some ways, I wish this were a little more interactive, b/c I like the different views and paths that are suggested. Maybe to open it up a little bit, consider this: I always have a favorite chapter or part in every story I write. What's your favorite part? If it hasn't happened yet, well, I understand if you don't write in. :o) Thanks again!

**Day Five**

Her eyes were open again, staring at nothing in particular. She stayed curled up, trying to protect herself.

She wasn't afraid of Kostya anymore.

She wasn't afraid of rape.

She wasn't afraid of death.

Jill desperately tried to block out the truth. It'd come during that frightful kiss. She'd tried to break free, tried to plead for him to stop. And then somewhere in the midst of it, even though she'd tried to kill him and he tried to hurt her, she _wanted_ it. She kissed him back. From there until Kostya pulled away, it was exposition, each showing what neither could admit to the side they were affiliated with.

Nick still called her name now and then, trying to get her to talk to him more. But she couldn't. She couldn't bear what he would think of her. Somehow, that was what made everything worse.

There was a shuffle of feet upstairs, and someone started down to the basement. Jill froze and shut her eyes. She took a deep breath, knowing it wouldn't be enough. She reopened her eyes, and found Ethan setting a plate in front of her.

She'd never felt so relieved in her life.

* * *

Kostya shrugged off the morning routine to Ethan. Lane found that very interesting. As soon as the younger Brit left the room, he motioned for Kostya to follow him outside. 

The morning air was a bit moist for this famed desert. It was cool too, though nothing like any cold Kostya grew up with or that Lane had been through. The neighborhood was already awake and gone for the day. That was perfect as well. The two men started down the street on foot.

Lane glanced to the Russian. He was proud—always had been—and it usually was an asset. But with pride came stubbornness. Kostya's regard for the girl was making him . . . less reliable. And that greatly concerned Lane.

"We're almost there," Lane said, referring to the coming exchange. His words broke the morning ambience. Kostya didn't say anything but nodded. He'd always been the quiet sort, more thinking and planning than exhibiting. It worked. Lane led, Kostya backed him up, and Ethan picked up the slack.

Ethan had been with them for a year now. Before then, Lane would call on Kostya every now and then for whatever job came up. They did their work, took their cuts, and went back to whatever life they had. It wasn't much. Lane was fine with life, but part of Kostya's demeanor came from his history.

"Are you ready for tonight?" Lane asked. Again, Kostya just nodded. "And the girl?"

Kostya finally looked at him, his eyes steely. "Don't worry," he said. "You were right."

_That_ surprised Lane. "Oh?" He was prodding, and Kostya knew it, but the Russian seemed inclined to share.

"I set a trap," he said. That definitely got Lane's attention. He waited till Kostya continued, though he switched to Russian. _"I left my gun out, empty of course. She grabbed it when I wasn't looking."_

Lane grinned. It was an old trick, and yet the fact that Kostya would even think to test Jill made him happy. Things would be okay for tonight.

"_That explains the mood,_" Lane said. He was relieved that Jill went for the gun. If not, he had a larger problem on his hands. But now Kostya saw for himself the trouble the girl was.

"Is Byron ready?" Kostya asked, suddenly changing the topic and language. Lane nodded.

"He's just waiting for us in San Diego." Byron was a hacker, ready to disseminate the info as soon as they got it.

"Are you still planning the next job?" Kostya asked. His eyes seemed to look far off, and Lane knew this was one of his introspective moments. It was also one of the rare occasions that Kostya didn't act like a brick wall.

Lane nodded. "My cut from this will easily fund it. You sure you don't want to come on board for it?"

Kostya smiled but shook his head. He tucked his hands in his pockets and just stared at the ground as they walked.

"You still want to go back," Lane said. He knew what plagued Kostya. It came up every now and then. "You could, you know. Russia wouldn't know the difference."

Kostya shook his head again. "_The government, yes, but I can't go back to my life there_." Spoken in his native tongue, it almost sounded more mournful than usual. Lane knew Kostya's dilemma, though he didn't think it was a big deal. His family disowned him when Kostya, well, left the Russian military. Technically, he betrayed the Mother Land, but that didn't seem to bother the dark haired man nearly as much as consequences in his personal life.

Lane viewed it all as better off anyway. He gained a valuable asset, a partner in crime, and occasionally a friend (when his head and heart didn't get mixed up). Even so, he didn't mind if Kostya and he parted ways after this. Just as long as he got what he wanted.

* * *

Sara blinked. 

"You're sure?" she asked again. Archie nodded.

"The tracker will be fine, as long as they don't see it," he said. Behind him, Grissom spoke up.

"Will they see it in the hard drive?"

Archie shrugged. "You'd have to know what you're doing, and beyond just working a computer."

Grissom leaned closer, hovering over Archie. "And they probably know what they're doing." He half-glared at the lab tech.

"I don't have any other option," Archie said. "It's up to you." Gil glanced at Sarah before nodding.

"We'll have to go with it," he said. He left the room and retreated to his office. He shut the door behind him.

He didn't know what to do. He knew what he was _going_ to do, but whether or not it was the right thing was up in the air. It was kept under wraps from Ecklie. It was Grissom's case anyway, and his call, but Ecklie would give him crap no matter what. Brass was ready to have LVPD back them up at the exchange.

He wasn't sure how the exchange would go down. None of the notes said anything. Maybe they would drop off one before the trade. Gil checked his watch. It was noon. There wasn't much time left.

Someone knocked on the door behind him. It was Sara. She came in.

"The hard drive's ready. Information, tracker and all."

Gil nodded grimly.

"Now we wait."

* * *

Something was coming. Ethan and Lane moved about often, and so did Kostya. However, the Russian didn't come down to the basement. Not alone or to be alone with Jill. Nick wasn't surprised at the distance between them now. He was relieved, actually. 

But he was nervous about Jill. Would she be all right? Would this rift with Kostya jeopardize her life? She was quiet still. She didn't say anything to him. Something bothered her, and she wouldn't tell him.

That hurt for some reason.

For the first time in a few hours, Kostya appeared. And he was alone. He glanced in Nick's direction, shooting him a warning look. Nick found that a bit odd since he was the one who ought to warn Kostya away. But the Russian didn't say anything to him. He moved straight over to Jill.

She stared at him, and Nick felt his body tighten with tension. He strained to hear what Kostya said.

"I want you to know something," he said, his voice low. "I understand why you used the gun. I probably would too." He paused, taking a chance to stare into her eyes. Nick tried to fight nausea. "Your father killed your mother. I don't think I would trust anyone after that."

Nick supposed it was some form of patching things up between them, but what threw Nick was the whole 'father killed mother' thing. He shifted his focus to Jill. She didn't deny it or correct him. Had her father _really_ killed her mother? Or did she just make that up for sympathy?

He remembered back to when he'd asked about her family. She'd given him an evasive answer, not going into details about her family.

Obviously, she'd told Kostya more. Nick bit his lip. He felt . . . hurt that she hadn't confided in him. She hadn't told him much about her at all. And yet she opened up to Kostya.

Jealousy. Nick knew that's what it was, and he hated himself for it.

"I . . . Tonight, we leave," Kostya said. "I wanted you to know, before tonight."

Jill nodded slowly, and from Nick's perspective, she looked touched. He rolled his eyes, and froze.

Kostya leaned in and kissed Jill. It was short and chaste, but that made it seem even worse to Nick. Jill actually smiled at him as he left.

He tried to block out what just happened, except for the info about tonight. Nick knew he should focus on that tidbit, but Jill remained the sole beneficiary of his thoughts.

* * *

Lane led his men to the basement. Each of them was almost ready to go. They wore dark clothing but nothing that stood out too much—no military apparel. It was essential that they could still blend in a crowd if needed. 

Nick and Jill could sense their readiness. Their faces said it all. Lane nodded to Ethan, who then cut Nick free. Nick stood tensely, unsure of what was going on.

"Kostya," Lane said. The Russian looked to his friend. "_Hit him._" Kostya stared back at Lane, but not before his eyes flickered to Jill.

"_Let Ethan,_" Kostya said back in his native tongue. Lane sighed. It'd always been the plan to have the CSI injured for the exchange. It was an added distraction for the police. However, Lane decided that Kostya should do it. For all the Russian said early that morning, Lane needed a little more conviction.

He shook his head, then nodded towards Nick. "_I want you to do it. Ethan,_" he called out. "_Stay with him._" Lane turned to leave, and went upstairs. 

Kostya glanced at Ethan, but the young blonde's face was impassive. Kostya bit down on his tongue, knowing what he had to do. Suddenly he spun his body around and flung out one arm. It hit Nick in the face, spiraling him to the ground. Jill gasped, but Kostya tried to block that out.

Nick tried to get up, but Kostya didn't wait. He kicked him in the stomach. Nick groaned and rolled onto his back.

"Hey man—" Nick started to say. Kostya cut him off by kicking him in the side.

"Kostya, no!" Jill cried out. It cut through him, but he made himself not look at her. He leaned over and picked up the CSI, ignoring the fact that he was clutching his stomach. Kostya grabbed him by the shirt and lifted him up and towards the wall. A sickening thud followed as Nick's back hit the wall. Jill yelled behind him.

Nick winced and stammered for breath. Kostya released him for a moment, then punched him hard in the chest. He didn't wait for any reaction before hitting him in the face.

When blood finally showed on Nick's face, Kostya stopped. Jill was still shouting behind him, but he tuned her out. He let go of Nick, and the CSI crumpled to the floor. Kostya gave him one last kick, a light one even, but the man groaned.

"How could you?" he heard Jill whisper, her voice on the edge of tears. Kostya didn't look her way. He simply couldn't. He quickly went for the stairs. As he passed Ethan, his voice kicked in.

"_Let her go, but watch them._" Ethan just nodded and started on it as Kostya left the room.

Jill glared at the Russian's back as he left. She felt so angry and confused at him. It all seemed to amuse Ethan, who wore a smirk more often than most businessmen wore suits. He cut her free though, and Jill ran past him to go to Nick's side.

The CSI hadn't moved yet. His eyes were closed and he just lay on the floor. Jill reached out a hand to his face. He winced, and she pulled back.

"Nick," she called softly. He groaned in reply. His jaw was bruising quickly, and a gash on his cheek bled down his face. His nose bled as well, and he moved enough to swipe the blood away. Instead, though, it smeared. Jill winced just seeing the red. She inched closer to him and used the hem of her shirt as a rag. She dabbed at it with her tongue and slowly wiped the streaks of blood away.

"Ow," Nick said, jerking his head back. It just smacked against the floor, and he groaned louder.

"Hold still," she ordered gently. Her eyes wandered over his body, checking for injuries. He seemed to still cradle his stomach with his arms, but she knew there wasn't anything she could do about that. His hips were so narrow, which she thought was a bit surprising for the rest of his frame. His broad shoulders, that square jaw . . . He was built too. His shirt clung to his torso, and she could see the definition there.

"Are you checking me out?" he said suddenly. He was staring at her, and Jill jumped a bit.

"Checking for injuries," she justified. He smirked at that.

"Right."

She rolled her eyes. "How can you joke about that now?" she asked, trying to steer away from her awkwardness. Nick shrugged.

"I know I'm hot."

She just stared at him. _Where on earth did this side of him come from?_ It was timed badly, entirely presumptuous, and on top of that—

--it was kind of cute.

_Damn._ She finally granted him a shy smile, and behind her she heard Ethan cough.

"How are you holding up?" he asked. Somewhere inside she felt her heart double-beat.

"Me? You're the one who just got beat up," she said, trying to be stern. It didn't work. Nick looked at her, into her brown eyes.

"I'm more worried about you."

He kept staring at her, and she found herself looking away to her hands. "Well, don't. I'll be okay."

Nick finally relented and started sitting up. "I can't help it," he said, trying not to groan as he moved. "I care too much about you."

Jill froze, and so did Nick. She waited for him to stammer, to explain, to take it back.

But he didn't.

They heard footsteps above them, and knew it was time.

"Listen," Nick said, taking his voice down to a whisper. "No matter what happens, be careful. If you see a way out, take it. No matter what." Jill nodded with a gulp. "And if they don't let you go . . ." Nick trailed off, even as he heard Lane and Kostya speaking in Russian as they entered the basement. Nick glanced in their direction and back to Jill.

"If they don't let you go, don't give up," he said, his eyes wide and unrelenting in intensity. "I'll find you."

She nodded. She felt so . . . she wanted to say something, to let him know how much she knew that he cared, and that she--

"Let's go," Lane said, not caring what his hostages were talking about. Jill glanced at the men, then shot Nick a look of uncertainty. Suddenly Ethan was by them, and he quickly retied Nick's hands together. He and Lane dragged the CSI upstairs, and Jill was left alone with Kostya.

She found herself doubting again. His eyes were dark, intimidating. They penetrated her, and Jill leaned back ever so slightly. But he made up the distance and took her hands in his. Slowly, he tied them together, never taking his eyes off hers.

She could see him in her mind, hitting Nick, kicking him. Suddenly she looked away, disgust rising within her.

But Kostya touched her face, bringing it back so he could stare at her again. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe apologize for treating Nick badly. Maybe for what would happen tonight. But Jill wasn't sure, and he never finished it.

Suddenly he leaned in and kissed her. She almost lost her balance and fell back, but his hands were there, his arms supporting her. His kiss was desperate and fervent, and Jill found herself accepting it, even as her mind lingered on Nick.

He pulled back just as suddenly and led her upstairs. Jill's mind was reeling from everything, but it'd all have to go away for now. Lane took her to one car, an SUV, and they drove off.

She ignored the older Brit, ignored the danger he presented, and ignored what could happen tonight. To her, other things were at stake, including her heart.

She just didn't know to who she might lose it to.

* * *

Grim faces filled the room. No note had shown up. And it was an hour before the meet was to take place, at some unknown location. 

Brass sighed. No note was worrisome. It might mean the hostages weren't alive anymore. He thought of them as 'hostages'—attaching names, especially that of Nick Stokes, just broke his focus too much.

Suddenly the phone rang in the conference room. Grissom frowned at it, and picked it up.

"Grissom," he said. The voice on the other line was distinctly British.

"Mr. Grissom," the voice greeted. "Are you ready to trade?"

Gil leaned forward in his seat. The other CSIs and the detective saw the intensity on his face.

"Yes."

"Good. Nick will be relieved," the British man said. "Send someone with the information to the middle of Freemont Street. You have 1 hour."

The call went dead, and Gil stared into it for several seconds. Suddenly he jumped up.

"Freemont Street."


	8. The Trade

**a/n**: Enjoy! I'm excited about the next chapter too, so I'll try to get that up soon. Thanks for the reviews, and by all means, keep 'em coming!

**The Trade **

Kostya had dropped Ethan off not far from the drop-off point. Now he and Nick sat in the car, waiting for 11 pm to come. It was dead silent, but there was something on both the men's minds.

Kostya forced himself to push it from his mind. More important things were at stake.

Nick, however, was thinking about Jill. He didn't know why he cared so much. Sure, he was human, and he didn't want to see anyone hurt. He wanted to protect people, and that's what he was doing all the time with his job. But Jill, for some reason, made things go deeper. It was absurd in some ways, Nick knew. He barely knew her. She obviously had a history of pain that he didn't understand, but he wanted to. Something about her drew him closer, but now they were apart, and Nick feared for her.

"Are you going to let her go?" he asked suddenly. The Russian man's gaze flickered to him via the rearview mirror.

"She'll be held until we have the information," Kostya said. "You'll meet the police and get the hard drive. Bring it back here, and then you go free."

Nick rolled his eyes. It was a stupid plan, since he could lead the police to him, but he didn't care about that. "And Jill?"

"We will release her when we are safe."

Nick gulped. To him, it meant that Jill would be held as long as they wanted. She'd be in danger.

"Why not let her go, and keep me?" Nick tried. Kostya laughed.

"You think you're more valuable, but you're not as easy to control as she is," the man said. "Besides, police are less motivated to find us when one of their own is not held."

"How can you pretend to care for her, and then talk about controlling her?" Nick changed the scope of the conversation, and he knew it was going somewhere he shouldn't focus on now, but Kostya bit.

"If it makes you feel better, know I will keep her safe."

"It doesn't make me feel better."

Kostya laughed. "What if she wants to stay? Does that bother you?"

Nick felt his pulse rise and the blood rush to his sore face. "Hey, just because you know about her life and got cozy with her doesn't mean she'd give up her freedom."

Again the Russian laughed. "So that is it." Nick frowned. "I'm closer to her than you are." He mumbled something in Russian and chuckled to himself.

Nick told himself to calm down but he couldn't help but fume at that. "Hey man, I know her enough to know she won't just leave with you. Is that what you're hoping for?" Maybe Kostya was convinced that Jill had stockholmed on him. Nick wasn't so sure. She'd fought against Lane and tried to help Nick back in the basement. He let it slip how he cared for her, even though he himself didn't understand why or how much. They flirted--that meant something. Didn't it?

"What do you know?" Kostya challenged. Nick felt his pride rising with his anger.

"I know she's been hurt," he said. "I know she's smart—she's already a graduate student in computer science. I know she cares about people because she identifies with their pain." He wasn't sure what the last one was about, but it felt right. It was instinct and he went with it.

Kostya just smiled. He casually removed his gun, and checked the clip. A glance at his watch showed it was time.

"We'll have to see, Nick," Kostya said with a touch of mockery. He leaned towards Nick and cut the ropes. "Now go. Come back with the hard drive if you really care for Jill."

* * *

Warrick's normally laid-back gait was stiff and robotic as he moved to the meeting point. In his hands, he cradled the hard drive. 

The exact middle of Freemont Street was ahead, and since they had no better direction than that, Warrick got there and waited. His eyes searched for anyone suspicious, but he had several options in a crowd of people.

"'Rick," he heard behind him. Warrick whirled around to see Nick. He grinned, but it didn't last.

Nick looked bad. His face was swollen and a bit bloody. He winced at slight movements, and Warrick knew he was in pain.

"Nick, you okay, man?" he asked, laying a gentle hand on Nick's shoulder. Nick nodded.

"I need the hard drive," he said. Warrick stared at him, but nodded slowly.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Nick took the drive and started to back away. "They still have Jill. I have to take this back to them."

Warrick frowned. "Be careful."

Nick didn't acknowledge that. He just started weaving through the crowd, the hard drive in hand.

Warrick knew his orders. If possible he was to follow, and he knew about twenty plain-clothes cops were doing the same thing.

Nick moved pretty quickly, but he stumbled frequently too. Whatever the kidnappers did to him, it was still hurting Nick. But he was determined, and that reminded Warrick that they still had another hostage out there.

Ahead of him, Nick stumbled again. But he looked panicked. Someone bumped into him, and the hard drive was gone. Warrick looked for whoever bumped him, and saw a young blonde man. Before he could do a thing, a gun shot rang out.

Screams covered all other noise and added to the pandemonium. Tourists, weekenders, teens--they all scattered, screaming as they tried to get to wherever they deemed safe.

Nick was looking for the man, his hand clutching his side. Warrick went to him.

"Nick!" He steadied his friend.

"They took it," he said. "That was one of them." His eyes searched the crowd for him.

"He's gone, man," Warrick said. "Come on, we got to get you checked out." He started to pull Nick away, but he shrugged off Warrick's hold.

"No! They still have her!"

"Nick, ease up," Warrick said. "We tagged the drive. We'll find her."

* * *

Jill tried not to fidget, but Lane kept staring at her. He gave her the creeps. His longer blonde hair, his rough features, and his icy eyes—they all made her shudder. And he liked that. She could tell that he enjoyed the torment. 

Just like when Kostya beat Nick. Lane had smiled through the beating. He _treasured_ it. Jill hoped Nick was okay. The CSI tried to be charming, a defense to make her not worry. But she worried anyway. Why did Kostya beat Nick? It made her sick. It also made her . . . confused about Kostya.

Why had he done it? She could tell he didn't want to, but he wouldn't stand up to Lane. That was something that made Jill afraid.

"You're thinking about him," Lane commented, slightly amused. She didn't say anything to that. "Kostya is a good man. Reliable, strong, very skilled in the industry."

Jill scoffed at that. Lane considered what they did as an actual, acceptable industry?

"He's ready to retire though," Lane said. "He hasn't been happy since he had to leave Russia."

Jill caught on to what Lane said. "'Had to leave'?" she repeated.

"He didn't tell you?" Lane shrugged nonchalantly, though she knew he was baiting her. "If he goes back, and the Russians find out, they'll kill him. He betrayed his government. His family won't even talk to him."

A pang hit her chest, and she immediately chastised herself for it. She hadn't expected much good news about Kostya's life. He'd hinted before at not relying on his government. She knew why now. And it still hurt.

Lane watched the girl as she struggled with the news. She was so easy to manipulate. He wondered why Kostya still liked her. Such weakness . . . To him, weakness was a disease, a contagious one. He'd have to watch his Russian friend.

Suddenly headlights flashed, lighting the interior of the SUV they were in. Lane sat up straight.

It was Kostya and Ethan.

The two men abandoned their car and climbed in the SUV.

"Got it?" Lane asked, a hint of anxiety and excitement in his voice. Ethan held up the drive and passed it to the older Brit. "Good. Ethan, let's go."

Kostya sat next to Jill. He wouldn't look at her though, which Lane thought was hilarious.

"Kostya, you have the scanner?" he asked. The Russian nodded and pulled a device from his pocket. He began scanning the drive. The scanner emitted a beep repeatedly.

"It's being tracked," Kostya said. He set down the scanner and turned the drive upside down. Immediately he began working on it, unscrewing the external casing as Lane watched and Ethan drove. They were all tense. Now it could get unpredictable.

But Kostya worked quickly. The case was off in a minute, and he shined a MagLite on the drive.

"Where's the tracker?" Lane asked, hurrying him. Kostya didn't say anything, but his eyes flickered to Jill.

Her eyes honed in on the drive, but she quickly looked away.

"Jill," Kostya said. "Can you see it?"

She didn't answer.

"How would she know?" Lane asked. Kostya didn't remove his gaze from her.

"She's a graduate student. Computer Science," he said. Lane glanced between the hostage and the Russian, then suddenly whipped out his gun, pressing it to Jill's leg.

"Jill, find the tracker," he said. Beside him, Kostya growled.

"_What the hell are you doing?"_ he questioned in Russian.

Lane smirked. _"Giving her an incentive.__ We don't have time for this."_ He cocked the gun and tightened his finger on the trigger.

"Okay," Jill said. Her chest expanded visibly. She swallowed and moved to the drive.

"If the police find us, Jill, I will kill you," Lane said. He didn't see the glare Kostya shot him, but Jill began fiddling with the drive.

"Light," she said simply. Kostya held the flashlight over the drive. "There it is." She carefully grabbed a small device, something that looked no more complicated than a transistor. She held it up for the men to see.

"Happy?"

Lane grabbed the tracker and chucked it out the window.

* * *

"They stopped moving, somewhere on I-15," Brass said. They were still on Freemont Street, fussing over Nick, though he tried to shoo everyone off. 

"Let's go," Nick said. Grissom, Catherine and Brass all objected.

"You're going to the hospital."

Nick shook his head. "No, I'm fine." He ran a hand over his short hair. "Look, I don't know what they're going to do to her. Jill's all alone now."

He looked pointedly at each of them, and waited for them to come around to his side. Even now, they were taking too long. Jill needed him. Or at least, he wouldn't leave her to fend off Lane and Kostya by herself.

"Okay."

The race to the location wasn't fast enough for Nick. His whole body was tight. Inside, his mind was jumping ahead.

What if they killed her? No, Kostya wouldn't. He was attached enough. That little kiss before leaving the house proved that. But would he let her go? And would Lane be willing to let her go, alive?

"There's nothing here," Warrick said.

Nick looked ahead. This was the spot, but there wasn't any vehicle on the side of the interstate. The police pulled over ahead of them, and Warrick stopped as well. Nick was out of the car as soon as it was safe.

"Where are they?" he asked to no one in particular. Behind him, Warrick knelt down on the road's shoulder.

"Hey guys," he said. "Isn't this the tracker?"

Nick gulped. He felt his legs weaken, and he quickly found a car to lean against before he passed out.

* * *

Somewhere along the car ride, Jill fell asleep. She laid on the back seat, curled up, her tied hands in front of her. Kostya watched her. Her brown hair covered her face slightly, and she looked as beautiful as ever. He swallowed and looked away from her. 

"Byron's not answering," Lane said from the front passenger seat. He tossed his phone on the dash with a scowl. "He better be there when we arrive."

Kostya suppressed a grin and looked out the window. Desert landscape flew by as they raced towards California. It was peaceful, and if it weren't for Lane's complaining, he might have enjoyed it.

"I'm calling him again." Lane picked up the phone and redialed Byron. Kostya glanced at Ethan and found amusement on his face as well.

"Byron?" Lane said suddenly. "Who's this?" He waited for a second, then quickly hung up. He swore.

Kostya frowned. "What was that?"

"Someone else answered his phone," Lane said. He tightened his grip around the phone, and Kostya thought it was going to be crushed. "They were fishing."

"Cops?" he asked. Lane nodded, and Kostya swore in Russian. "Now what?"

Lane just shook his head. Suddenly Ethan turned off the road.

"We'll stop and figure it out," he said smoothly in his accent. It was authoritative, something neither Kostya or Lane had really heard from the youngest team member. "I'll get us inside Arizona. The police won't expect us there."

Beside the Russian, Jill stirred. She shifted, moving her head so it rested against Kostya's leg. But she didn't wake up. Kostya tried not to jump. She was warm. Her hair still covered her face. Kostya glanced up at Lane and Ethan—both were focused on the road. He looked back at Jill and gently brushed the hair from her face.


	9. Tracking without a Tracker

**a/n: here's the next chapter! I hope you like it! The next one is pretty exciting as well, so I'll post that relatively soon (probably Wednesday). Enjoy!**

**Tracking without a Tracker**

"Tell us what you can, Nick," Catherine prodded gently. Nick nodded and clasped his hands in front of him at the table.

"Three men. The leader's name is Lane. British, in his 40s. Long blonde hair, hazel eyes. There's another English guy, Ethan. He's maybe in his early or mid 20s. Short blonde hair and blue eyes," Nick said. He took a deep breath. "The other guy is Russian. His name is Konstantin, but goes by Kostya. Dark hair, shaved short. Dark eyes."

"That's good, Nick," Catherine said. "It's enough to narrow our search. We haven't found anything on them, but Brass has a contact who can search Interpol's database, now that we have more info."

"We should get their photos to the press," Gil said, suddenly adding his voice to the conversation.

"You haven't done that already?" Nick asked. Gil shook his head.

"Surveillance footage was too grainy to get a hit. Work with one of the artists and we'll get any drawings to the press from there."

Nick nodded, but inside he knew it would take too much time. He wanted to be out there, banging down doors and tracking them. _Follow the evidence._ Wasn't that always the rule? But there wasn't evidence to follow. There hadn't been enough to track them down when Nick was still held. And there wasn't much more now.

He found himself sitting at another table, describing the kidnappers in detail. Nick went through the motions, but felt empty. His conscience plagued him. He should have pushed harder to have him stay behind, to have Jill go free.

"Is this Ethan?" the artist asked, holding out a finished drawing. Nick glanced at it and nodded. "Okay. The last guy was Russian?"

Nick felt his pulse pick up. "Yes." He drew another deep breath. "Short, dark hair. Kind of a buzz-style . . ."

What if Jill started to like Kostya? Where that thought came from when he was supposed to be concentrating, Nick didn't know, but it stayed with him. To be honest, she had gotten to know him. Kostya knew her better than Nick did. What if she wanted to be kept hostage?

"What else?'

Nick glanced back to the progressive drawing. "Thin, kind of gaunt face. Scruffy—he had stubble, kind of the slow-growth type."

Did he push her into liking Kostya? He knew the answer to that, and it made him frown.

"Not quite right?" the artist asked, seeing his expression. Nick put an instant grin on his face.

"No, no. That's close. Um . . . his mouth was small, but not thin or like a line," Nick added. He returned to his thoughts as the artist worked. It was useless to keep doubting and questioning how Jill felt. He promised her he would find her.

He turned his gaze to the drawing, feeling more focused and determined than before. He had work to do—and Jill to find.

* * *

The motel was anything but quiet. Now was its peak time, with shady individuals coming and going, paying for a room by the hour. It was the perfect place to stop, so long as the police didn't stop by. Even if they did, no one knew the car the foreign men drove.

Ethan paid cash for the room and checked it out before signaling for Lane and Kostya to come with their things. Jill watched the motions with groggy fascination until Kostya grabbed her arm and led her to the room.

She thought she might be seen, that maybe someone would help her, but the people at the motel weren't interested in anything but themselves and whoever they were with. Drunk laughter and drug-induced rambling created a dull roar that covered any rational talk.

The room smelled. It was mold or dust or both, and then that old vacuum smell. Jill crinkled her nose, but the men didn't seem to mind. There were two beds, one that looked like it'd hardly been made since the last occupant. Jill shut her eyes for a moment.

"Sit down," Lane ordered behind her. She sat stiffly on the bed. The men looked tense as well. She could sense the mood, like something unexpected had happened. Jill frowned in the silence.

They started to speak in Russian, quiet mumbles as if she might understand the language if they spoke louder. Jill rolled her eyes.

"Excuse me," she said, a little haughtily. Lane glared at her. "Can I take a shower?"

She could hear the voices escalating through the paper-thin walls as she showered. Whatever had happened, it was stressing them. Was the hard drive corrupted? Probably not, or Lane would kill her. Was it because of the tracker? Jill doubted that one—she'd gotten rid of it for them, though not willingly, again thanks to Lane.

She shuddered under the lukewarm spray of the shower. Suddenly someone pounded on the door.

"Enough, Jill!" she heard a British voice say. She rolled her eyes.

"Just a minute!" she shouted over the water. Suddenly she heard a loud thump and felt a draft of air as the door was kicked it. She shrieked and backed against the wall of the shower.

"What are you doing!" she shouted. A towel was tossed over the top of the shower, and she caught it and quickly draped it around her just as someone pulled the curtain back.

She was shocked to see it was Ethan.

"Lane wants you out, now," he said. His eyes were cool, and his voice wasn't loud anymore. He was completely calm, and that made Jill even more nervous. His eyes flickered to the towel, which Jill fiddled with to pull tighter around her body. "Get dressed." With that, Ethan turned his back to her, but stayed firmly in place within the bathroom.

Jill gulped. She could hear Kostya and Lane, arguing about something from the other room.

"Um," she started, glancing at the floor, "could you pass me the bag?" It still held a new change of clothes, thanks to Kostya. Ethan kicked the bag towards her without even turning around. She was grateful for that, because her towel slipped at that exact moment.

She dressed with lightening speed, and Ethan led her out to the room. Kostya and Lane weren't talking at that point, but the air in the room was heavier, with more than just dust and mold. Ethan didn't seem to notice or care, and he tied her hands together in the silence.

"Get some sleep," he told her. She nodded, and laid down where he left her.

"You too, Ethan," Lane said suddenly. "I'll stay up tonight." Though it might have seemed a kind gesture, Lane's tone wasn't nice. It was forced, threatening even. Maybe he didn't trust either of his men to stay up.

Despite her nap in the car, Jill fell asleep quickly. But sometime later, she felt something being placed over her. She stirred, and cracked her eyes open. Kostya was going back to his bed, sitting on its edge and facing Lane.

He'd placed a blanket over her. Jill almost smiled at that but quickly pretended to be asleep again as she heard Lane speak.

"She found the tracker," he said. "Computer Science?"

"That's what the cop said," Kostya said. "Why?"

"What else can she do?"

Silence followed that, and Jill froze.

"No," Kostya said, though to what, Jill wasn't sure.

"Why not? She found the tracker, so she's obviously able to do a lot more," Lane said.

Kostya suddenly switched to Russian and said something lengthy.

"Would you pick a language and stick with it?!" Lane hissed. "If she can't hack into the servers, she knows someone who can. We're sitting on millions in information, and we can't access it!"

"You want her to be an accomplice, not a hostage," Kostya said, growling a bit. "Why would she agree?"

"She's hardly a hostage with you seducing her," the Brit shot back. "Look, it's either this, or our whole plan has been wasted, and we get _nothing_."

Kostya didn't say a word, though Jill could feel his gaze on her. Her body was tense as her mind tried to process everything they were saying.

They wanted _her_ to get into the information? Not that she couldn't, but she still didn't know what it was for, and what it was tied to. Even if she could or couldn't do it, she didn't want to. Kostya had been right. This would make her an accomplice.

How would Nick see this? After everything with Kostya, would he see it as her willingly helping? Would he think she really liked Kostya?

_Did_ she really like Kostya? That was an issue in itself. Sure, if he was normal, involved in non-criminal things, she'd like him. He _was _nice—when he wasn't angry—and he was mysterious and gorgeous. _Did I really just think that?_ Jill shut her eyes tighter. _What about Nick?_ Nick was gorgeous and kind, funny, smart—that whole scientist/criminalist thing—and he wasn't wanted for kidnapping. Automatically that gave him a one-up on Kostya.

But there was something about Kostya that made Jill feel for him. What Lane had said about his past, not being able to be with his family . . . somehow she identified with that. With his pain. His regret. Lane had said Kostya wanted to "retire." He wanted out of this—and that gave Jill hope.

"She'll do it, Kostya," Lane said, breaking her thoughts and the silence. "Tomorrow, we'll find out what she needs, get it and have her start."

The Russian mumbled something in his language and then Jill heard him move. Quiet followed, and for several minutes, Jill only heard the sounds of light breathing. She kept her eyes shut and just listened.

There was no way she would help them. She knew that, and maybe Kostya did too. But Kostya was under Lane's thumb, and Jill questioned if he'd ever stand up to the British man. She replayed in her mind what she'd heard the men say. If she was to be forced to do something, even by Kostya, she wasn't safe anymore. And Kostya could only protect her so much when he followed Lane.

Courage and adrenaline surged through her with inspiration.

She had to escape.

The breathing was heavier now, all around the room. Jill opened her eyes. Ethan lay not far from her, dead to the world and amazingly innocent-looking as he slept. She could hear Kostya as well, but her real worry was Lane. Jill ventured a glance at the Brit. He was sitting up on the other bed, leaning against the headboard. His eyes were shut, and Jill could see his chest expand and contract slowly.

She gulped and glanced at the clock. It was 4 a.m. Amazingly, it was quiet outside, and in some ways, that frightened Jill. But all she needed was just one moment. . .

She carefully rolled on her stomach and pushed herself up with her bound hands. She froze when she was six inches off the ground, and listened. No movement. As she got to her feet, her eyes stayed on Lane.

He was asleep, and hadn't stirred yet. Jill moved for the door. It was locked, and as she turned the deadbolt, she winced with every metallic whisper.

Kostya shifted in his sleep and Jill's heart rate soared. She hurried with the bolt, trying to be quiet, but too scared to be silent.

She was out the door and running to the parking lot when she realized she didn't even shut the door behind her. Jill told herself that didn't matter. She was free, but not safe, and that was a priority now.

The desert air was way too cold. Jill shuddered, but kept moving. The light for the motel's front desk was out, and Jill knew better than to knock on doors of who knows who might be in this questionable establishment.

She looked to the road, and started for it. A gas station lay down the street, and Jill hoped she could find someone to help her. She didn't realize it but she was whimpering. Her body was still so cold and tense, not just from the night air, but the fear that coursed through her. Had Kostya woken up? Or Lane?! That made her pick up her pace.

Lights shone behind her, and Jill panicked. She didn't dare turn around, but the lights got closer, and she could hear the vehicle approaching. It slowed next to her.

"You all right, miss?"

Jill glanced at the driver and let out a sob. It was none other than a cop driving his police car.

"Help me, please," she whimpered. The officer stopped the car and got out, circling around the front. He looked over her. The bindings on her hands obviously stood out.

"What happened?" he asked, pulling out a Leatherman to cut away the ropes. Jill flickered a glance to the motel, where it seemed quiet still.

"Please, they could be coming," she said, still glancing back and forth between the officer and the motel. "My name is Jill Parker. They kidnapped me in Vegas."

The officer looked a bit alarmed at that, and he backed away from Jill.

"Just hang on," he said. He pulled at a hand radio clipped to his shirt. "Dispatch, we have a situation out on . . ." He kept talking, but Jill wasn't listening. She rubbed at her sore wrists, savoring the near feeling of safety. Relief started to comfort her. She'd been found.

Suddenly the police officer sank to his knees as the sound of a bullet echoed off the sandy plains. Jill screamed as blood splattered and split freely over the ground. She looked around in the darkness, but the police car's headlights blinded her from everything else.

And then she knew they were there. They were on foot, shrouded by the night's blackness. Jill backed away from them, but it was useless. It was Lane that stepped forward first, his gun raised at her.

"That was a stupid thing, Jill," he said, moving closer and closer to her and the front of the police car. Jill just stepped back, her eyes not daring to look away from Lane.

Someone grabbed her from behind. She didn't know how he could have gotten behind her, but he did. Ethan encircled her with his arms, holding her firmly and preventing her from struggling.

"Please let me go," Jill said as the tears started to fall. It came out as a hoarse plea, sounding even more pathetic than ever. Lane came within inches of her, his face harsh and livid.

"No, Jill," he said, roughly grabbing her chin. He held the gun by her head, and she could feel the cold steel. New headlights shown on them as their car approached. Lane whispered harshly in her ear. "You still have a part to play in this."

Jill shook her head.

"No, please, Lane—"

He brought his hand back quickly and backhanded her across the face. Jill yelped and would have staggered if it weren't for Ethan holding her up.

"_No-pycckn_," she heard from the car's direction. It was Kostya's voice. He'd left the car idling and joined the group in the headlights. He looked mad as he shoved Ethan back. The younger Brit released Jill and was about to shout off a string of words when Kostya said a string of his own in Russian.

Whatever it was, nothing escalated from it. Lane and Ethan got in the car, leaving Kostya to bring Jill. But Lane kept his eye on her, and she shuddered from the combined cold and fear he triggered.

She shot a mournful look to the police officer's body. He'd only tried to help, to do his job . . .

Kostya pushed her in the SUV and climbed in after her. She shrank from him and as far from the Brits, compacting her body in what corner she could. Her face stung from Lane's hit. She put a cold hand to it, trying to soothe the pain. Her hand shook, and wouldn't still.

It wasn't long before she realized her entire body was shaking.

* * *

It was 8 a.m. when they got the call. Technically, the shift was over, but Nick didn't dare leave. He was glad he hadn't.

Arizona's police had called, saying they had a sighting of Jill Parker and three men. The kidnappers' dossiers hadn't come back yet from Brass's contact, but Jill's picture circulated in the media and various PDs surrounding Vegas.

But it wasn't her photo that caught attention. It was a police cruiser video, usually used in episodes of "COPS" and to back up alibis. The camera in the hood of the car acted as the only available witness in this case.

Arizona's Highway Patrol uploaded the footage. Nick, Grissom, Catherine and Warrick sat around to watch it. Sara was still coming in, and Greg was actually asleep at home.

Nick couldn't wait for them.

The footage began, starting with just a road. Suddenly it picked up someone running on the side of the road.

Nick's heart skipped a beat. It was Jill.

He watched, silent and unmoving as the police officer tried to help. All four CSIs jumped when the man was shot in the head. The shooter was off-camera, but judging from Jill's reaction, he was close. Nick could see Ethan behind her as she backed into him, but he still jerked when Ethan grabbed her. He clenched his fist tightly when Lane hit Jill.

Kostya showed up, and said something or other before the group left. Jill cried, her body shaking from the terror. Nick felt a lump in his throat. She had no one to help her.

He wasn't there for her. And she was still out there, alone.

"Back it up to just after the officer is shot," Grissom said. Behind Nick, Catherine placed a hand on his shoulder, patting it once or twice. The tape replayed as Lane came into view. His face was stern and he seemed angry, but the words were lost as he leaned towards Jill.

"What's he saying?" Warrick asked.

"Replay that part again," Grissom said, squinting at the screen. "'You . . .still have . . part'—back it up again." The footage replayed yet again, and Nick watched in hopeful awe as Grissom studied Lane's mouth. "He said she still has a part to play in this."

Nick felt a thud of dread go through him.

"What about the Russian?" They could all hear him speak, but that wasn't the problem.

Again, Grissom leaned forward towards the screen. "Replay it again."

Catherine and Warrick glanced at each other and then to Gil. "Don't tell me you can lip-read Russian," Catherine said. Grissom shot her a look.

"I wanted to see his body language," he clarified. "Call in a translator. Whatever he said, it stopped the other two from doing anything more."

"We have to find her," Nick said, more to himself than anyone in the room. Catherine patted him again on the shoulder.

"We will, Nicky," she said. "We will."

Someone knocked at the lab's door. It was Brass, and judging by his face, his news wasn't the best.

"I just got off the phone with Arizona Highway Patrol," he started. "There's a state-wide hunt for the kidnappers. Highway Patrol's ticked."

Warrick nodded. "You kill a cop, you have every one of them after you."

"And they're authorized to shoot on site," Brass said. Silence followed as the CSIs digested the consequences. Brass cleared his throat and continued. "The drawings of them are all over the news. CNN is outside right now, requesting an interview. And Jill Parker's dad just showed up."

Nick tensed quite visibly.

"What is it, Nick?" Grissom asked, instantly observing the Texan's mood. Nick took a deep breath before answering.

"There's something you should know about Jill's dad," he said. "They aren't close, with good reason."

"What?" Catherine pressed.

Brass spoke up. "He was suspected but never proven to be involved in the disappearance of Jill's mother." The detective sighed and turned to leave as the other CSIs took in the new info. "I'm sure CNN will bring that up, so be careful what you say."

He left, and Nick found himself staring after him. His eyes glazed a bit as thoughts flooded his mind.

"With the shoot-on-site order, Jill's in more danger now, isn't she?" Nick said hollowly. No one answered vocally. Nick bowed his head, shutting his eyes. "When is the translator coming?"

To him, it might be the only lead they had.


	10. Hacking It

**Hacking It**

The Russian translator turned up the audio levels, trying to hear Kostya more clearly. It still sounded like mangled gargling to Nick, but the voice steeled him.

"He's saying that they shouldn't hurt her," the translator said. He frowned at the screen and replayed a segment. "They shouldn't hurt her if they want her to . . . something about information."

"Information?" Gil repeated, leaning closer. "He said that?"

The translator nodded. "I'm not sure what it means, the word he used, but it had to do with the information."

"Accessing it?" Grissom asked. The translator nodded. "So they want her to hack—"

"Hack!" the translator exclaimed, pointing and nodding at Grissom. "That's the word."

Nick raised an eyebrow at that as the translator resumed a more subdued stance.

"—they want her to hack into the information," Grissom finished. "Why her?"

Warrick shrugged and took a swing at it. "Wouldn't they have someone in place to do that? Someone they knew and trusted?"

"Unless that fell through," Grissom said. "Well, Jill studies computer science. Maybe they think she can hack as well."

Nick shut his eyes and leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands. His conversation with Kostya in the car replayed in his mind. Nick swore under his breath.

"What?" his boss asked.

The Texan shook his head, and frowned. "I'm the one who told them about Jill's degree." He sighed heavily as additional guilt settled over him. "That's probably why they kept her. Because I told them what she could do."

He started to berate himself in his mind, wincing at his own voice in his head. How stupid could he be! Why not just take a gun and hold it to her head himself? The police car's surveillance had shown how dangerous things were getting for her. Lane _hit _her!

"Hey, man," Warrick said, startling Nick's guilt trip. "That probably saved her."

"Statistically, hostages used as leverage are killed as soon as they aren't need," Grissom added. "You gave them reason to keep her alive."

Nick didn't say anything, but shut his eyes again.

"And with the Russian," Gil continued, "he stepped up to defend her."

"So they could get what they want," Nick said.

Gil shook his head. "No. His body language doesn't suggest that." Gil's eyes flickered to a freeze-frame of the incident in Arizona. "He was protecting her. I'm willing to bet what he said was just an excuse so the others wouldn't hurt her."

Nick glanced to that freeze-frame. He hoped Grissom was right. He hoped Kostya was protecting Jill. He hoped Lane wouldn't hurt her.

He was scared to think what was happening to her now.

* * *

The tears had dried long ago, but Jill could still feel the path they left on her face. She'd told herself not to cry, over and over again. But somewhere along the way to wherever they went, she broke down. 

She hadn't sobbed or been loud about it. She just valiantly blinked back the tears until they wouldn't hold anymore. The flood had come when they arrived outside some old building that looked abandoned. Lane had jumped out of the car and yanked her along with him. She jogged slightly to keep up with his furious pace. Even after driving for an hour or more, he hadn't calmed down.

Jill discovered that in full force when he flung her to the floor of the abandoned building. She quickly scrambled away from him, backing up until she was cornered, against a wall. Lane stalked towards her slowly, his eyes bright yet narrow. His mouth was a thin line, with his lips pursed together tightly.

He reached for her, whirling her around so that her back was to him. His hands gripped her arms tightly behind her back, and then she heard metal clanking as he snapped handcuffs over her wrists. Where he got them, she didn't know, but an image of the dead highway patrolman flashed to her mind.

Lane pushed her to the ground again, and Jill fell awkwardly on her side. The impact jarred her shoulder, but she didn't let out a whimper. Even so, her eyes were wet, and that fueled Lane. He wrapped rope around her feet, tying them tightly. When he finished, he leaned into her, crouching over her menacingly. He reached for her face and gripped it meanly.

"I want you to listen, Jill," he said. His voice was low and tinged with anger that she knew was barely contained. His fingers dug into her chin. "You will help us. You will stay with us until you do what we ask. You _will not_ escape."

Jill didn't say a word. She couldn't look Lane in the eye, so she settled on Kostya, who had followed and now merely observed. But the Russian couldn't face the scene. He studied the floor and paced, but never interfered.

"I will make things painful for you, Jill," Lane hissed into her ear, quieter but crueler now. "I will hurt you, your friends, your family, even Nick Stokes. But if you do what I ask, I'll leave you all alone."

He pushed off her as he stood up and walked away. He grabbed Kostya, taking the Russian with him. For a moment, Jill was left alone, bound and in a corner of the warehouse. Both she and the building were abandoned, it seemed, until Ethan came in and watched over her.

His ice blue eyes revealed nothing but emptiness as he stared at her from across the room. Jill turned from him and shut her eyes, willing the tears to go away, and those dried paths on her face to disappear.

* * *

It was Brass who knocked on the door. Nick jumped at the sound and sat up on the breakroom's couch. Brass entered, ignoring Nick's disheveled appearance. He focused on Grissom, who halted his search for coffee as their double turned into a triple shift. 

"I have good news and bad news," the detective said. Nick gulped and braced himself. Brass merely sighed and took a seat around the room's table.

"Bad news first," Grissom said, shooting a look at Nick.

Brass nodded, and glanced at each of the two CSIs in the room. "Kannell Corp called back. It seems the CNN story caught their attention. They've requested a copy of what the kidnappers wanted. And they're changing all access to their company servers, new security measures, the works. They'll probably do more when they get a copy of the info."

Nick gulped again. "Jill won't be able to get in," he said. That meant she would be in a tighter spot. And Lane would get mad . . .

"But we know more about the kidnappers now," Brass continued, hurrying to the 'good news.' He brought out three papers from his sports coat. He dropped it on the table and Nick found himself diving for it. "My contact at Interpol pulled these up. Profiles on Kyle Lane, Ethan Gordon, and Konstantin Gatylenko."

Grissom reached the papers before Nick, but let one go to share with Nick. Nick studied Kostya's profile.

Silence consumed the room as new information consumed its occupants. Nick tried to steady his breathing as he learned more and more about Kostya. His Russian military background. His traitorous acts. The crimes he was suspected of in 8 different countries. None of it was good news.

As Grissom read the profile in his hands, he felt much the same way.

"How is this good news?"

Brass shrugged, grabbing and reviewing Ethan Gordon's profile. "At least we know what we're up against."

Gil huffed at that. "Yeah. We're up against a guy who by all accounts is a mercenary and a terrorist!" Grissom slid the paper across the table to Nick. "This guy's got a sheet this long, and no one's picked him up?"

"There's no world police," Brass commented a little lightly. "If it makes you feel better, this Ethan guy doesn't have much of a sheet. Just a couple of things, linked to Lane."

"That makes it all better," Nick mumbled.

"You know," Grissom started, taking his glasses off to clean them, "with guys this smart and accomplished, how could they screw up so much?"

Nick cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Well, whoever they had lined up to hack the information obviously fell through. You think they'd have better contacts," Grissom said.

Nick glanced over the profiles in front of him. "Maybe it's as simple as they aren't familiar with the area." He waved the paper in the air. "They haven't worked in the US before."

"Could be," Brass said. "But that doesn't make them any less dangerous."

* * *

Ethan watched over Jill, the two of them alone in the warehouse. Kostya really didn't like that, but Lane wanted him to go with him to get whatever equipment they needed. Jill had work to do, and Lane wasn't waiting a second longer than necessary. 

Kostya was tired of this job. He was tired of all the hiccups, the threats, the tension. And he really, _really_ didn't like Ethan being left alone with Jill. For Jill's sake—not because Kostya feared she would escape again.

Part of him wished she had gotten away from that motel. It would . . . uncomplicated things. As it was now, he just worried.

But he didn't want to tip off Lane about that, so Kostya's Russian features were kept as everyone expected. Harsh. Uncaring. Cold. They drove back, the hot desert sun beating down on their dark SUV. It bothered Kostya. He was used to wet, dreary and freezing climates—not this hellish inferno here. It didn't seem to matter though. Regardless, he and Lane were rushing back to the warehouse with a few thousand dollars' worth of computer equipment.

When they got back, Kostya almost jumped out of the car and ran inside. He snagged some of the equipment so he didn't look so desperate. As soon as he walked into the empty building, he felt it. It wasn't just the iciness that encompassed Ethan. It was also pure, unadulterated fear.

From Jill.

She lay on her side, still bound the way Lane had retrained her. As soon as she made eye contact with Kostya, she looked away.

That stung Kostya. He grimaced, but quickly masked it when Ethan glanced his way.

They assembled the equipment, hooked it up to one device or another, and soon it was a mess of wires and hardware. But the hard drive hummed as Lane powered the laptop. They were in business.

Kostya bit the inside of his cheek as he waited for what was next. Lane turned to Jill and jerked her to her feet. She couldn't balance well at all, and started to fall to the side. Lane just jerked her upright and dragged her to the computer setup. He let her go and dropped her on the ground in front of the laptop.

"Are you ready?" he asked, a taunting grin on his face. Jill offered a shaky glare back, to which Lane just laughed. Ethan grinned as well, but Kostya's face was stone.

Lane uncuffed her hands, and started to explain everything as she rubbed her wrists. Kostya tried not to feel anything as he saw the red indentations in her skin.

"This hard drive has information from a server for a financial brokerage firm," Lane started. "I need you to decipher it and break into the routing of the accounts."

Jill rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. You want me to route the money to your account."

Lane smiled. "You _are_ smart." He leaned close to her ear and placed a hand on her thigh. "You _will _do it, Jill. Trust me."

She gulped at that but didn't nod or dispute his words. He moved away and waited for her to start.

But Jill didn't move. She just held her head up and stared blankly through the screen. Kostya and Ethan exchanged glances, but Lane didn't move a muscle. He waited for her to give in.

It was ten minutes when he finally lost it. He stood and grabbed Jill by her shoulders, throwing her on her back. With her hands free, she sat herself up, but her bound feet limited any escape.

Especially as Lane advanced. Kostya felt his teeth clench together as the British man kicked her in the side. Inadvertently the Russian took a step forward. He stopped himself as Lane glanced over his shoulder. It was a warning, and Kostya knew he had to watch it.

Jill cringed at the kick but didn't utter a sound. Lane seized her by the shirt, lifting her and slamming her against a wall. She gasped at that, especially as her shirt ripped at the shoulder. But Lane didn't stop. He backhanded her across the face. Black and white sparks exploded into her vision, and for a brief moment, Jill wondered why mean guys never actually punched girls. Was a punch _too_ harsh, and a slap or backhand more gentleman-like?

That train of thought stopped as she hit the floor. Lane grabbed her by her bound feet and dragged her towards the computer.

"Do it, Jill," he said. "Start now, and I'll stop." He let go of her feet and left her momentarily to lie on the floor and catch her breath.

She looked up at Kostya, and again the Russian looked away. He drew a deep breath and tried to ignore a smear of blood on her face. His pulse raced and he could feel the heat of anger run through him.

"Do you not care what happens to you?" Lane asked. "Being beaten. Raped. Left for dead? How about your family?"

Jill almost smiled at that, but Lane missed it.

"Should I go after your parents? Bring them here so you can watch them die?"

Suddenly Jill started to laugh, and it threw Lane off. His eyes narrowed at the change in her demeanor.

"By all means, Lane," she said, her voice rising with confidence, "go after them. Good luck finding my mother. She disappeared years ago."

Lane raised an eyebrow but didn't have a word to say.

"She was probably killed," Jill continued. Her voice seemed haunted but bold. She embraced her tragic history. "The man responsible is my father. He's in California. I'll give you the address even, if you want to go after him." She huffed. "Just don't expect it to make me do something I won't do."

Lane stared at her, as did Ethan. For Kostya, he already knew this about Jill, but he waited to see how Lane would react.

It wasn't good. The long-haired blonde man grabbed Jill again by the feet, dragging her quickly across the rough and dirty floor. Jill seemed panicked but she held her courage. Lane whipped her around, sliding her further and sending her rolling until she hit a wall.

It didn't hurt, but Lane didn't stop there. He kicked her again, twice more. Jill finally released a yell of pain, but Lane just kicked her again. Kostya's heart raced. He couldn't just stand here and watch this. Not to Jill. He glanced at Ethan, but the younger Brit revealed nothing but near boredom at the situation.

Kostya stepped forward.

"_Enough,_" he said in Russian. It wasn't loud or bold, but it was menacing. Lane shot him a look, daring him to interfere.

The Brit turned back to Jill. "Who do you care about, Jill? You can't be completely alone," he said, a smile playing on his tone. "Nick Stokes? Maybe. Should I go get him? Or maybe I don't even have to look that far."

A rush of chills went through Kostya as Lane turned back to him. He watched, his eyes wide, as Lane suddenly drew his gun. He barely aimed as he fired it at Kostya.

The bullet ripped through his thigh, just above his knee. It sent him to the ground. Kostya gritted his teeth together and muffled a scream. His hand went for his gun, but suddenly more intense pain seared through his leg. Lane stepped on the bullet wound, grinding it with his foot. Kostya screamed and tried to clutch at the wound.

"No!"

The pressure on Kostya's wound suddenly disappeared. It was Jill who had yelled out.

Lane didn't even turn back to her. He just stood over Kostya, grinning. It wasn't just accomplishment. It was a smirk, rubbing in what Lane knew and just proved.

He didn't need Nick Stokes. He didn't need family. If Jill didn't fear for her own life, she now feared for Kostya's.

The Russian gulped back a bout of nausea from the pain. His dark eyes searched for answers from the Brit, but Lane just smirked.

He knelt by Kostya, ignoring the blood he knelt in, and removed the Russian's gun. He tossed it to Ethan, who still seemed unsurprised. That made Kostya wonder how long Lane had abandoned their history, their friendship, even simple comradery. Lane pushed his gun against Kostya's other leg, and looked to Jill.

Her eyes were wide. She shook her head. "Please don't." Her pleading whisper cut through Kostya and made Lane laugh.

"_Sorry, Kostya,_" Lane said in Russian. "_I'll still give your cut, if that makes you feel any better._"

He nodded at Ethan. _"Tie him up_."

And just like that, Kostya went from kidnapper to hostage.

* * *

a/n: I hope you all liked that. I have another chapter ready to go, so when it looks like everyone's read this, I'll post the next one. Thanks and Happy Holidays!


	11. Leads

**Leads**

The call came in late in the day. Brass had told Nick he had a lead at a shady electronics dealer on the Nevada/Arizona border. Nick hurried to the location.

The dealer was nervous, but interested more in the reward Kannell Corp recently offered publicly. He was a scrawny man, with dark, thinning hair. He fidgeted constantly, but his eyes were wide with the hope for fortune.

"Tell CSI Stokes what you just told me," Brass prompted. The dealer turned to Nick, and eagerly started over.

"Two guys came in earlier, wanting a boat-load of electronics," he said, a greedy smile spreading over his face. Nick wasn't impressed by this brief account, and he glanced to Brass to say as much.

"They're the guys from the news," the dealer continued. "A British guy and a Russian."

Nick's heart somersaulted within him. "What did they get?"

The dealer proceeded to list off several items, all long and wordy.

"Was there anyone else with them?" Nick asked. His heart fell when the scrawny man shook his head. "Where did they go?"

Again the dealer shrugged. "They took a left out of the parking lot."

Left. Well, it narrowed it down a bit.

But not much.

"What were they driving, and where were they parked?" Nick asked next.

Brass took down the detailed description as Nick went to the parking lot outside the dealer's shop. There were distinct tire marks where the dealer said the SUV had parked, but that wasn't really a break-through. Even so, Nick photographed the treads and took samples of the debris around them.

Hours later, Greg came to the Texan with results of the debris.

"Your dirt," he prefaced. "It has traces of titanium dioxide, found in industrial areas."

"Industrial areas?" Nick repeated. Greg nodded.

"Yeah. I already ran a check on it. Industries for the most part have banned it. Long-term exposures lead to fibrosis, scarring in the lungs," Greg said.

"So is this fresh titanium dioxide or . . ."

"Old stuff, probably from an old factory or industry that used the stuff," the lab tech said. Nick nodded.

"So where are some areas like that?"

* * *

Jill typed away, trying to find search strings to break down the hard drive. The data was accessible, but she didn't know how to plug it in with the accounts.

She sighed and wiped away a strand of hair from her face. Behind her, she could hear Lane pacing. Ethan was in front of her, standing like a soldier and not reacting to anything.

Kostya was on the floor, his hands tied behind his back. Lane had bandaged the Russian's leg, but that didn't mean Kostya wasn't mad. With good reason.

"Work faster, Jill," Lane hissed behind her. She tensed and started typing away again.

"_Leave her alone_," Kostya said in his rough accent and language. Lane flickered a glance at him.

"_I was afraid of this_," he said, though he didn't sound afraid of anything. _"I could see it happening. You were going soft. Now look at you._"

"_It's not about being soft. You screwed up_," Kostya said. "_This job was over the moment we couldn't get the data. But you had to take hostages._"

Lane huffed at that. _"You should thank me. Otherwise, you might not have a date after this._"

Kostya glared at him, but not because of what he said. Lane had said 'after this.' The Russian knew better.

"_What's after this? We both know you'll clean up. You'll kill her._" Kostya shifted his glare to Ethan, then back at Lane. "_Are you going to kill me too? What about Ethan?"_

Lane sighed, and for once, Kostya saw a brief moment of doubt from Ethan.

"_This isn't about casualties. It's about the money. I'll leave the girl for you, Kostya_." Suddenly the Brit grinned. "_Consider her my gift to you._"

"_Was the bullet a gift too?_" Kostya said, bitterly. Lane glared at him.

"Ethan," he called, switching to English. "Gag him."

From her work station, Jill glanced between the men, not understanding what was said, but feeling the tension all too easily. She stopped for a moment to watch as Ethan gagged Kostya with a piece of cloth. The Russian protested, but it came out muffled. Ethan didn't seem bothered by what he was doing, once again reverting to the brick wall persona.

Suddenly Lane hit Kostya with the butt of his gun. The hit landed across his temple, and Kostya slumped over, stunned.

"Work!" he yelled at Jill. She gasped as Lane kicked the Russian in his wounded leg. Kostya screamed into the gag. His eyes shut and his whole face and neck were taut with pain.

Jill started to fiddle with the computer, anything to look like she was working. In truth, though, she didn't know what to do next.

She had what she thought was the measures to access the company server, but something was blocking her. She frowned at the screen and tried another string of code.

Suddenly a warning popped up on her screen, flashing and beeping at her.

It was from the company security.

Lane heard the noise and was at her side immediately. "What is it?" he demanded.

Jill just stared, trying to figure it out herself.

"Crap," she muttered. "They've blocked my access. And they're tracing the connection."

Lane swore, then moved back to Kostya, the gun at the Russian's head again. "Get in! I want access, Jill, so get it!"

"I can't," Jill shouted back. "They've changed the codes. Didn't you think of that?! It's been days—of course they're going to change the information!"

Lane cocked the gun and replaced it at Kostya's head. The Russian was a bit hazy from the hit to his head, but even so, he looked worried.

"Lane, please!" Jill yelled. "I can't do it! But they're tracing us, right now. They'll find you."

This worried him. "Do something about it," he ordered. Jill nodded and quickly disconnected the line to Kannell Corp. The warning box disappeared, and Jill was left looking at static data.

She didn't hear him move, but Lane was back at her side now.

"You better not be lying," he hissed in her ear. Jill shrugged the feel of him off.

"I'm not," she said between clenched teeth. "Lane, I really do not know what to do." She sounded out each word slowly, trying to get through to him.

"Figure it out," he said, moving back to Kostya. He kicked the Russian in the leg, eliciting another yell through the gag. "Or Kostya suffers." As if to prove his point, he grabbed the Russian by the shirt and slammed him against the wall. Kostya groaned and his eyes flashed a clear hatred to the Brit. Lane didn't seem to care. He held Kostya up, just barely, making Kostya carry some of his weight on his bad leg. Suddenly Lane released him, and punched him hard in the stomach before the Russian could fall to the floor.

Kostya coughed through the gag and rolled slightly, trying to ease the pain.

Lane nodded to Ethan. "Secure them." Ethan nodded back, and moved to Jill. The cuffs were now used on Kostya, so he used rope to tie her to a foundational support in the room. He grabbed Kostya by the back of his shirt and dragged him close to Jill. He tied a new length of rope around Kostya's feet and secured it to the same support.

And then he left, obviously unconcerned about the hostages.

Kostya lay on his side, next to Jill, who leaned against the support with her hands tied behind it. He thought about moving, but right now, he feared the pain. Immediately he berated himself for that. He'd been a soldier! He was better than succumbing to pain. Then again, he hadn't been shot in a while, and the blood loss, though stopped now, still made Kostya a bit light-headed.

Or maybe that was the hit to the head. He shut his eyes, and tried to steady his breathing.

"Are you okay?"

Jill's timid voice warmed him, maybe because of the concern that laced it. Kostya nodded and opened his eyes.

She was beautiful. Even with dried blood on her face and her hair disheveled, her shirt torn and the obvious fear in her eyes, Jill was beautiful to him. Her eyes were soft as she looked over him, and just the feel of her eyes on his body made Kostya temporarily forget the situation.

"It looks like your leg stopped bleeding," she commented. Kostya nodded. He rubbed his face against his shoulder, trying to move the gag. Jill watched him as he kept at it, until the cloth slid beneath his chin.

"Are you all right?" he asked immediately. Jill nodded, but Kostya didn't believe her. She never should have been through this. And especially with what Lane did to her—beating her, and using anything against her. She didn't deserve it. Kostya could have stopped it, and he didn't. That knowledge weighed heavily in his mind.

The warning signs were there. He should have known Lane would do this. Though he and Lane had been through a lot in the past years, nothing solidified trust, especially among thieves and murderers. That's what he was after all. Kostya frowned at that, but moved on. Lane always cared about the bottom line. Here, it was about the money. And after months of planning and researching, and a week of waiting, they still didn't have money.

Desperation, it seemed, motivated him to do stupid things. In this case, it was betraying Kostya.

"What's wrong?" she asked suddenly. It was a funny question, but Kostya didn't make light of it.

He shook his head. "I'm just thinking," he said a bit choppily. "I'm sorry." He didn't feel like expounding on what, but Jill knew anyway. He clearly was accountable in all this, and now his fate was tied to Jill's.

"Kostya," she said softly. From the floor he looked up at her. "I don't know how to break into the server." She sighed.

"You are sure?" Kostya asked. She nodded miserably. "They changed the access?"

"Yeah," she answered. "Security is tight, and without any inside information, I can't do a thing." Her eyes welled up with tears, but she quickly blinked them back. "I . . . I don't know what to do."

The helplessness she exuded wrenched Kostya's growing heart. He wanted to protect her, to change their lives. If only he had stepped in earlier . . . Maybe if he'd helped her escape, instead of ignoring what he felt and wanted to do. . . .

It didn't matter, because that wasn't the reality. He was betrayed and tied up.

But he was still Kostya. He wasn't helpless, even bound. His mind jumped on that. The cuffs were tight around his wrists, but not impossible to get out of. Kostya would have to dislocate his thumb and untie his feet. He still had his knife on him—Ethan hadn't bothered to search him, once his gun was gone. He could get free pretty quickly.

That didn't make things easy though. He still had to get past Ethan and Lane, and he doubted he and Jill would be left alone for long. He looked around the room. There were windows, but they were about fifteen feet off the ground. Some crates were left in the warehouse, just wood slats but it could help . . . .

His dark eyes flickered to the doorway, which led to another open space in the warehouse. Lane and Ethan were probably plotting the next move, or something. Kostya himself didn't know what the next move could be. They were at yet another dead end. But something told Kostya not to expect Lane to give up. Ever.

"What are you thinking?" Jill asked.

Kostya didn't answer. It was a matter of timing, if they were to escape. And now might be the only chance.

He grabbed his left thumb with his right hand and pulled on it until he felt the painful pop. He groaned, but tried to hide it. Jill glanced at him, a little worried. Kostya bit his lip hard as he pushed the cuff over his left hand.

He sighed as he succeeded and brought his hands in front of him. Jill just stared.

He shot her a clever grin and went for his knife.

He had himself freed a minute later, and moved to Jill. His knife sliced away her restraints, and she stood eagerly.

"How did you—" she started. Kostya put a finger over his mouth and just shook his head. She got the message.

He bit lip again as he tried to stand. The pain seared through his leg, but he ordered himself not to groan. Jill quickly came to his side and supported him under his left arm. The feel of her warm body so close to his distracted him, but just for a moment.

He nodded to a stack of crates, and carefully they hobbled to it.

* * *

"I think she was telling the truth," Ethan said, rechecking his gun. Lane slumped as he sat on a box crate. He held his head in his hands as he leaned on his knees.

"Well, it'd be better for us if she were lying," Lane said bitterly.

"What do you want to do?" the younger Brit asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Lane sighed. "We were supposed to have this done no later than 48 hours ago. Now we're behind, and possibly screwed."

Ethan raised an eyebrow at the older man's desperation. "I wasn't aware of a deadline."

Both knew the time-sensitive nature of information, but that wasn't what Ethan meant. Lane straightened up and shot a look to the younger man.

"You know what's at stake, for the next job," he said. "We get this, we get the next one. And you know the next one's worth it."

"And Kostya?" Ethan asked. Lane shrugged, trying to play off the seriousness of what transpired between them.

"He's a fool to have fallen for her in the first place. But it worked, didn't it?" He ran a hand through his longer hair before standing. He walked to the other room, with Ethan trailing behind him.

As soon as his eyes zeroed in on the cut ropes, Lane swore. Something moved out of the corner of his vision. Lane swiveled to it, only to see Kostya half-out the window.

"Kostya!" he yelled, removing his gun. He fired a warning shot that shattered the glass next to him.

The Russian ducked back inside, his dark brown eyes staring down Lane.

"Where's the girl?" Lane demanded. Kostya merely smiled. "Ethan! Find her, now!"

The young British man took off, leaving Kostya and Lane in an unequal face-off.

* * *

Jill heard the shot, but one look back at Kostya told her he hadn't been hit again. She saw him nod at her, encouraging her to escape, and then he disappeared from her view. She started running, but as she looked around, she saw there wasn't much around.

The desert heat was dying off and night was coming. The sun only left a few rays to show her the options. There was a cluster of warehouses down a dusty road, but she'd be exposed if she ran that way.

She'd be exposed, though, no matter where she ran. Jill took off down the road. Behind her, she heard quick footsteps grating against the gravel and dust. A quick glance over her shoulder showed Ethan, moving fast towards her.

Jill put into practice years of high school track, and ran hard. She wasn't free yet, but she could at least hide.

Suddenly a shot rang out, echoing off the slight rises of the sand over the plains. Jill ducked a bit, but didn't stop. They wouldn't kill her, not when they still needed her.

She hoped that was the case still.

She passed the first building and ducked down a little alleyway behind it. The next building would provide a little cover, she hoped, as she planned to run on the other side of it. Zig-zagging hindered crocodiles; why not British kidnappers as well?

* * *

a/n: please review! It could be my Christmas present!


	12. Factories

**Factories**

Nick flattened out the large map and cleared his throat. Inside, his heart was fluttering with potential excitement. He waited for a nod from Grissom before starting.

"Okay," he said. He pointed to an area along the Nevada and Arizona border. "This area has tons of old factories, some still operational and some just abandoned. Lots of titanium dioxide there too, so I think there's a good chance that's where they are."

Warrick, Catherine and Sara all nodded but Grissom didn't react. He looked to Brass, who picked things up.

"Arizona PD is already searching," he said. "And I've convinced them to let us search as well, with a local authority present." Nick's face lit up at that.

"Okay," Grissom said, "I assume Nick is ready to go. Catherine and I will go with him and Brass."

"I'm not going?" Warrick asked. Sara looked like she had the same question in mind. Grissom shook his head.

"I need you two on another case. 419, downtown," he said. He turned to Brass. "Let's go."

Nick was the first one out the door.

* * *

Lane circled Kostya like a hungry shark, but the Russian didn't flinch where he sat. He could see the fire in the Brit's eyes, though. It made Kostya want to laugh. 

Lane never could just let something go. He was one of those people that if you were on good terms, you were fine. But if there was ever a problem, Lane would never forget it, even if he was as much at fault. It was a shortcoming of the man, but Kostya doubted Lane cared.

Suddenly Lane kicked Kostya in the side. It wasn't directed to his leg, but it still made Kostya cringe. He swung his leg back again for another kick when Kostya defended himself. He caught Lane's foot with both hands and yanked Lane off his feet.

The Brit landed with a thud, and Kostya stumbled to stand. He wasn't going to just lie down and take a beating. Lane understood the movement, and his eyes took on a malicious gleam.

"All right," he said. "If that's how you want it." Lane charged at the Russian, running into him like a linebacker. Kostya gripped Lane's shoulders, and as both men fell, he twisted Lane off of him.

They were both back on their feet in a second, though Kostya was less stable. His leg ached and he knew this wasn't good for him. That didn't matter now.

Lane took a different stance and spun around, his leg extended. Kostya saw the kick and ducked. As Lane turned past him, Kostya hit his open side. Lane barely stumbled. He spun back and struck out with a fist.

Kostya saw that a bit too late. It caught him in the jaw. For a second, he lost his vision, but it flashed back quickly. He readied himself for Lane's second attack.

It would have been easier for him if his leg allowed more weight. Maybe it was foolish for him to get into this at all. Lane was an accomplished fighter, but normally Kostya could outsmart him. Injury, though, guaranteed Lane a victory. As Lane leapt and kicked out again, Kostya thought he should have thought about that earlier.

* * *

Jill slid to a stop outside another warehouse. She'd already hid inside of one for awhile so she could catch her breath, but Ethan came close to finding her. Now she tried another warehouse door, but it was locked. 

Ethan was nearby. She could hear his footsteps, even though she thought she was outrunning him. She pulled on the door again, but it didn't give.

She moved around the building, but stopped again as she saw a ladder going up the side of the warehouse. Jill didn't hesitate any longer. She quickly scrambled up the ladder, up to the roof.

Her heart thundered in her ears, and it annoyed her. She tried to listen for Ethan, but her own pulse drowned out any noise he made.

It was beyond dark now, and Jill shivered as she lay flat against the roof. Why did it have to be so darn hot during the day and then freezing at night? It made her wonder why she ever lived in a desert state. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to trap her warmth.

Kostya. She hoped he was okay. Part of her feared that despite the history between him and Lane, the British man might kill him. She shut her eyes. Thinking like that wouldn't help. She just had to get away, and get help. The sooner she was safe, the sooner Kostya might be as well.

Something light hit the roof, and Jill started at that. She stared at the surface, trying to discern what it was. A pebble lay not far from her. Jill's muscles tightened, ready for flight as she listened to the night.

Ethan. It had to be Ethan. Jill crept to an edge of the roof, moving stealthily now. She slowly peered down.

Nothing was there.

Suddenly her body started shaking. Claustrophobia ate at her as she suddenly felt closed in, trapped. She whirled around to the other side of the roof. Still nothing. Her heart pounded again, ignoring the need to hear and survive.

Another pebble hit close to her and Jill froze. She stared at it, and then she sensed it.

She was being watched. She turned her head to look behind her.

There, standing on the roof of the building behind her, was Ethan. The outline of his body barely stood out against the night sky, but Jill could see his eyes, and his teeth almost glowing as he grinned at his prey.

Jill scrambled for the edge of the roof to the ladder, and barely kept herself from falling as she made it to the ground in a few seconds. She started running again, away from the building where Ethan had been.

She cut a corner and ran hard behind one warehouse. Frantically she searched for a door or a place covered where she could hide. A door was slightly open, coasted. Jill took it.

The warehouse wasn't empty like the others. It was crowded with old, unused machinery. Some of it towered to the top of the building. Jill gulped. It was eerie.

Knowing she didn't have time for fear, she scurried around the machines. One spread out into a conveyer belt. Jill slid beneath it and pressed her body against one end that met up with another machine.

She waited and prayed.

Something rattled and banged shut, but it didn't sound like the door. Jill's eyes darted towards that area, but it was too dark to tell.

She held her breath.

A loud clanging made her jump and almost hit her head on the conveyer belt. Whatever it was, it fell at the other end of the warehouse. It must have been heavy, and metallic, judging by the noise.

_Who cares what is it!_ It _had_ to be Ethan. Jill curled herself up more, and sunk deeper against the machine. Everywhere her eyes darted, she could see his bright eyes taunting her. She closed her eyes and focused on being silent.

Something landed heavily right above her on the conveyer. Jill screamed, unable to pretend she wasn't scared. Suddenly the same thing jumped and landed by her. It was Ethan. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out from under the belt.

Jill pulled back, trying to get away, but his hold was tight. He dragged her close to him and then swung something at her head.

Jill felt the impact and promptly lost consciousness.

* * *

Lane tried to catch his breath. Kostya was unconscious and bloodied on the floor. For a brief moment, he almost felt sorry. Lane shunned that emotion and grabbed Kostya by a wrist. He dragged the Russian slowly, a bit worn out from his exertions. 

He used rope this time, tying it so tightly behind his back that he knew Kostya wouldn't be able to escape. Lane left him on the ground. He glanced at his watch.

It'd been awhile now, too long for his tastes. Where was Ethan? Where was Jill?

That girl had caused too many problems. He didn't have time for anymore. She'd have to make things work, get into Kannell Corp's system. He could risk being traced. Before anyone could make it to them, Lane could escape. All he needed was the access. Once he had that, he would have the money for the next job, and additional resources from a contact who had set this one up.

He heard the scraping of gravel outside the warehouse and quickly drew his gun. He aimed steadily at the door.

Ethan came in, carrying Jill in his arms. The girl was obviously out. She dangled almost lifelessly in the younger man's arms.

"Is she alive?" Lane asked, a hint of panic in his voice. Ethan nodded and dumped her on the floor. "What took you so long?"

Ethan grinned for a moment before becoming stone-faced again. "Just a game of hide and seek." Lane almost laughed at that, but instead pointed to the rope. Ethan began to tie her up.

Ethan glanced at Kostya as he tied up Jill. The Russian's face sported some bruises and a gash along his eyebrow. Blood leaked from the leg wound, and combined to a single picture, Kostya looked nothing like the intimidating renegade he normally was. Lane wasn't concerned though. Not about that at least.

The younger British man stood and went to the computer. Lane watched him.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Ethan turned the laptop on.

"We're not getting anywhere," he said. "The girl can only help so much. We need to get this or find another job." He glanced at Lane directly. "Do you know of anyone else who could hack in? Or can your contact get us access another way?"

Getting access all over again would be another full-fledged job, but Ethan was right. There wasn't much hope in any other way. Lane frankly didn't want to go to those lengths, for several reasons. He wasn't eager to call his contact back and give away that the job had failed.

He shook his head. "Wake her up," Lane said. "She must know something."

Ethan almost sighed, but seemed to hide it in Lane's presence. He shook Jill.

"Jill," he said. "Jill!" He shouted it closer to her ear and shook her harder. The girl stirred a bit. "Wake up!"

* * *

The first string in the industrial area that they hit turned up nothing. Nick scowled as Brass drove the CSIs further into Arizona. Ahead of them, a patrolman led the way in his cruiser. 

The next string of warehouse seemed as the first—empty and dusty and old. Even so, they turned off the main roads to look.

Nick felt a rush go through his body as he saw a vehicle in the distance.

"Aren't these all supposed to be abandoned?" Nick asked.

Catherine frowned in the seat next to him. "According to the info we have," she said. "But then who is that?"

"Don't get your hopes up too much, Nick," Grissom said from the front seat. "Just because the area isn't functional, doesn't mean it's empty."

Nick squinted his eyes as he looked ahead. The headlights only showed so much, but . . .

"That car fits the description that electronics guy gave us," he said. His pulse rose and Nick subconsciously put his hand on the butt of his gun.

"I think he's right," Brass muttered, looking ahead as well. He picked up his radio to call the other car. "Officer Rodriguez, this could be them."

* * *

Lights flashed briefly into the warehouse windows, making Lane jump to his feet. Jill glanced at the windows in time to see another flash of lights. 

_Someone's here!_ She sat up straight.

"Cops!" Ethan hissed. He grabbed his gun and clicked off the safety. Lane signaled to him, and the younger man took off to the outer door. He jammed it shut. Lane stepped up on the crates to peer out the window.

He swore as soon as he looked out. Lane bounded off the crates in two hops and stormed towards Jill. She shrank from him and closer to Kostya, who was still unconscious. But it didn't do any good. Lane grabbed her and put the gun to her head.

"Ethan! Shoot out that window!" he demanded. The younger Brit fired three shots, and outside Jill could hear someone scream in surprise.

"Hold your fire!" someone else yelled outside. Lane grinned.

"Yes, hold your fire, or Jill's dead!" Lane shouted. The cold steel buried into her skin—Lane pressed the gun so hard to her head that she tried not to whimper.

"Lane, please," she whispered. The response she got was Lane gripping her arm hard enough to leave bruises.

"Leave her alone," someone said. Jill gasped. It was Kostya. He hadn't moved much, but his eyes were wide open especially as he saw Lane threaten her.

Lane spat off something in Russian to the man. Kostya's eyes flickered to her. Jill swallowed and stared at his dark eyes.

* * *

a/n: hmm.. . . In the interest of having a new chapter up, I'll stop it there. Enjoy! 


	13. Standoff

**a/n:** Thank you for the reviews. Sorry about the delay in posting but holiday time makes it harder than usual to post. This chapter is shorter than most, but it was the right place to break the chapter at. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

**Stand** **Off**

Nick ducked, and beside him Catherine let out a yell. Glass from the warehouse windows sprayed out over the cars and the CSIs.

"Stay down," Brass hissed at them. Even Grissom obeyed at that. From inside, they heard someone yell.

Nick knew the voice.

"That's Lane," he muttered. Grissom stared at the Texan for a moment before turning his attention back to the warehouse.

Officer Rodriguez was already calling for backup when they heard demands through the window.

* * *

"You'll let us leave with Jill," Lane shouted, "or you'll have her body to bury!"

Ethan hurried to detach the cables and to gather the computer equipment. Jill's body was tense beneath Lane's grip. He himself was tense as they waited for an answer.

"It's over!" they heard someone shout back. "Let her go and maybe you won't get the death penalty."

Lane rolled his eyes. "As if I would actually go to prison," he muttered. He raised his voice. "Her death is on your hands!"

Outside, someone yelled, a protest of sorts. Jill froze. She recognized that voice.

So did Lane. "Nick Stokes," he said with a smile. Suddenly he whirled Jill around. "I want you to tell them, Jill. Tell Nick to back off."

She started to shake her head when Lane slapped her. The blunt force stung her skin and spun her to the floor as she yelped.

"No!" Kostya protested.

Lane snarled at Jill. "Do it!" His eyes lit up for a second, and he turned to Kostya and fired one shot.

Jill screamed along with the echoes of the shot. Kostya's body jerked with the bullet's impact to his stomach. Blood seeped from the new wound. The Russian's face was twisted with new agony. He closed his eyes as he tried to stem the pain.

"Kostya!" Jill yelled. Lane made a grab for her but she dodged him and fell by the Russian's side.

His eyes barely reopened but he stared at her. A groan escaped his lips and Kostya writhed in pain. Jill found her hands on his body, trying to ignore the blood and trying to stop it from leaving him at the same time.

"Jill . . ." he whispered. Excruciating pain came over him, and he clenched his teeth visibly. His whole neck tightened. He was trying to fight it, trying to be brave, and Jill found her eyes become wet.

"Shh, it's okay," she said, though she knew it wasn't.

Kostya opened his eyes wide and suddenly seemed tightly in control of the pain. He stared directly at her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "If things had been different . . ." Another wave of pain hit him and he groaned.

She opened her mouth to say something else, anything to help or comfort. It was cut off by Lane. He jerked her up and held her tightly against him so she couldn't move.

"I'll shoot him again, Jill, if you don't do what I say," he hissed in her ear. "But if you tell the police to back off, we'll leave him here. Nick will help him."

Jill's legs were shaky, and Lane almost had to hold her up.

"Tell them, Jill," Lane said again. Slowly she nodded.

"Lane," Ethan called out. The younger man came to Lane's side. "We can't just drive out of here and expect them not to follow us."

Lane didn't say anything, so Ethan persisted. "We need something else. We need an extraction." He pressed the older man for some sort of agreement, and finally Lane nodded. He passed Jill to Ethan.

"Get her to tell them to back off," he said, and with that, Lane pulled out his cell phone. He sighed, dreading having to make this call. But Ethan was right. There was no other way out.

* * *

"Nick!"

His heart leapt as his name was called.

"Jill!" he shouted back. "You okay? We heard a shot." Beside him, Catherine squeezed his hand. She shot him a reassuring look, but Nick still felt anxious.

"I'm okay, Nick!" came a reply. "Please do what they ask!" Her voice was so polite but it was also desperate. Nick's heart dropped. She was trying to be brave, but she was terrified.

A new voice rang out with demands.

"We will come out and go to our vehicle." The voice wasn't as deep but instead was smooth and cold. _Ethan_, Nick thought. "No one moves, got it?"

Brass and Officer Rodriguez exchanged looks, and then for some reason looked to Nick. The Texan gulped.

He nodded. It was this way or the bad way.

"All right!"

Everyone was tense, like a wire stretched so taut that it was about to snap. Each cop and CSI had their gun drawn, and Nick's finger twitched over the trigger. How he wanted to pull it when he saw Lane . . .

It was several moments before Lane and Jill emerged. The Brit's gun was pressed to her head. He paused in the doorway.

"Drop your guns!" he called out. Again the cops and CSIs looked to each other before complying. Slowly, one by one, the guns fell to the dusty ground.

Headlights were the only light, and they illuminated the hostage and kidnapper. As Lane and Jill moved towards the SUV, Ethan came out as well.

Nick waited for Kostya to come next, but he didn't. Was he covering the other two? If so, the CSIs might be fired upon, and Nick wasn't thrilled at that. But he'd have to risk it, to get Jill back.

Training told him to calm down and wait. Lane and Jill still moved to the car, only a few feet away.

Ethan strode along confidently, seemingly unconcerned about the police or that he had no human shield. He held a gun in his hand, just casually hanging at his side. He took a few quick steps to catch up with Lane.

Suddenly he reached the older man and knocked his gun hand away from Jill. Nick gasped as Ethan pushed her forward so she fell to the ground. The young Brit kicked Lane behind the knee and raised his gun.

The two shots rang out with almost no pause in between. The CSIs cringed, especially the wet smack as each bullet embedded itself in Lane's head. No one moved for several moments as the leader bit the dust, literally.

Nick tore his eyes away from the dead Brit and fixed his gaze on Jill. She stared at the horrific mess.

Suddenly everyone leapt for their guns.

"Hold it right there!" Brass yelled, his gun now in his hands and aimed at Ethan. Officer Rodriguez echoed the command, and even Grissom and Catherine raised their guns at the young British man.

Ethan smirked at them and raised his hands, dropping his gun in the process.

"Calm down," he said, his accent and voice suddenly more soothing than cold. "There's a man bleeding out in the warehouse. You might want to help him."

"Kostya!" Jill said, suddenly getting to her feet and running inside.

"Jill!" Nick yelled. He followed quickly, with Grissom behind him. Brass and the officer started to cuff Ethan and read him his rights.

When Nick ran inside, he immediately saw the Russian on the floor. Sure enough, blood trailed off his torso and onto the pavement. Jill knelt by Kostya's side and grabbed his bound hands.

"Kostya?" Jill's voice trembled with his name. She put a hand to his face, almost caressing it. But the Russian didn't move. His eyes were open, just slightly like before. Nick noticed immediately that his eyes didn't follow anyone's movement.

He gulped and quickly went down on his knees by Jill. He brushed by Jill as he leaned over Kostya and put an ear over the man's face. He listened for breathing as he watched the Russian's chest.

Nothing.

Nick bit down on his tongue. His eyes surveyed the bloody mess and Nick quickly took off his outer shirt, leaving him in a dark t-shirt.

"Hold this to the wound," Nick ordered, thrusting the shirt in Jill's hands. She sniffled but complied. Nick tilted Kostya's chin up and administered CPR.

Breath alone didn't work. Nick started compressions. As he did, he heard someone behind him.

"Let me." It was Catherine. Nick moved aside and let her do compressions as he gave air at appropriate intervals. Jill just watched them as she held the shirt in place. Her eyes were wide, fearful but not abandoning hope.

Nick's eyes connected with Catherine's. She swallowed. There wasn't much hope to be had.

"Let him die, for all I care," someone said from the doorway. It was Officer Rodriguez. Jill's eyes flashed and she looked like she would pounce on him if it weren't for the blood on Kostya.

"Get out," Nick said between breaths. He didn't have time for idiocy.

"He killed a cop," the officer continued.

"No he didn't," Jill said hotly. "That was Lane." She looked back to Kostya. He suddenly coughed, and Nick and Catherine almost jumped back.

"We need to get him to a hospital!" Nick yelled out.

Jill's heart soared as she watched. Kostya's eyes were closed now, but she could see the rise and fall of his chest, even if it was irregular.

"He protected me," she whispered, though Officer Rodriguez wasn't listening. Her eyes flickered to Nick as he snatched a blanket from a kit that someone else brought in. He fumbled with it, almost like he couldn't get it open and over the Russian quick enough.

Suddenly his eyes met hers, and she felt . . . confused. She swallowed and offered him a grateful smile.

Kostya coughed again, this time sputtering hard. It was a wet cough and some spots of blood fell on his mouth. Then his body stilled.

Nick swore and listened for the man's breath.

"What else can we do?" Catherine asked. Nick just shook his head and tried to breathe life back into the Russian.

"Kostya."

It came meekly from Jill, but held no effect. Catherine started compressions again.

They stopped after a few minutes. The blood pool around the Russian made it clear that their efforts wouldn't change the result. Jill choked on a sob. She bit it back even though a tear ran down her face.

Nick sighed heavily and looked from the Russian's body to Jill. His eyes were red and moist as well, which surprised him even. But one look at Jill made him feel a dull pain within him. She was hurting more now.

"He's dead?" came a voice. Nick was prepared to tear off Officer Rodriguez's head, but it wasn't him who'd said it. At the doorway stood Ethan, cuffed but casually leaning against the frame. The British man swore. "He was a good man, beneath it all."

Nick just blinked. Jill stared. Catherine found her voice.

"Who _are_ you?!"

Ethan just smiled coyly, as Brass and Grissom entered the scene.

"We have a lot to go over," Brass said.


	14. Repercussions

a/n: Sorry this took so long! Enjoy!

**Repercussions**

Jill sat numbly in a conference room, somewhere in a lab area. She guessed it was where CSIs hung out. Nick was by her side, along with his coworker, Catherine. Across from her, though, sat Ethan.

She stared at him. He was so collected about everything, and so nonchalant.

"I'm not supposed to blow my cover," the Brit said, "but Lane gave up an opportunity for me to find what I needed. The situation was clearly going sour, so I decided the risk was worth it."

"Why should we believe you?" Nick asked, his jaw tense. Ethan merely grinned at him.

"I wouldn't blame you if you didn't, but I'm sure my superiors are clearing me with your detective as we speak." He glanced to Grissom. "You have Lane's cell phone?"

"Yes," Grissom said. Ethan nodded.

"I'll need that."

Gil frowned. "For what?"

"Lane placed a call right before we came out, to his contact," Ethan said. "I need to get to that contact, and now I can."

"And why should we let you go after him when he's been involved with this whole mess?" Nick challenged. "Multiple homicides, robbery, kidnapping—"

"Frankly, Mr. Stokes," Ethan interrupted, "it's out of your jurisdiction. I respect the work you all do here in Las Vegas, but this goes beyond your city, state, and country." His eyes were still cool, that light but bright blue. Even as the information sunk in, that he might be a good guy, he was still a brick wall with no warmth or compassion.

Jill glared at him. Her mind replayed all the opportunities he'd had. All the chances to help her, or stop Lane, or take control to avoid the misery and death.

Suddenly he looked at her, sensing her disdain.

"My apologies, Ms. Parker," he said in that accent that Jill hated now. "I wish I could have helped you sooner."

"Helped me?" she whispered, almost unsure of her voice and temper. Images of the warehouses and being chased came to mind. "You terrorized me. You could have let me escape earlier. Lane wasn't around. He had nothing on you, no way to know if you just let me go." Her voice was rising more rapidly, and beside her Nick grabbed her hand. It might have been to restrain her, but Jill took it as back up.

"Instead," she continued, standing as she started to yell, "you chased me, knocked me out, and just _watched_ while Lane hurt Kostya and me!"

Ethan raised his head slightly, almost to clear himself of her charges. "I understand your anger—"

"Like hell you do!" she yelled.

"—but I needed you around to do whatever Lane wanted so I could accomplish my objective," he finished. He wasn't the least bit riled by her tone or accusations. His tone never changed. He simply sat there, his hands cuffed but politely folded on the table top.

Jill felt her heart hit hard against her chest. It was a final blow to the coldness and indifferent nature of the British man. It was a final blow to the misery she felt.

There had never been a chance for her even with a 'good guy' around all the time. There had never been a chance for Kostya to change, or to live. Even with the opportunities, Ethan wouldn't step in. All because it would get in the way of his "objective."

Jill pushed against the table, scooting her chair back. She stood, her eyes spitting venomous looks at the Brit. She left the room, unable to stand it anymore.

* * *

Nick stood to follow Jill out, but Grissom shot him a look. Nick bit down on the inside of his cheek and sat back down.

Ethan observed it all with a smirk, which thankfully he tucked away for passivity as Grissom nodded for him to continue with the 'facts.'

"Lane was a fool to suspect Kostya," the Brit said, leaning back in his chair. His voice suddenly seemed light, reflective and not the least bit darkened by his own failures. That irked Nick, but he forced himself to listen. "Kostya was changing, but the real danger Lane never suspected."

"You," Grissom filled in. It stroked Ethan's ego, the way Gil said it, but Nick had seen his boss do this before. It often was done to criminals who thought they were so clever.

But Ethan merely smiled, even managing to appear humble. He gave a short nod.

"He never considered that he was compromised," Ethan said. He shrugged. "And Kostya paid for it."

"Why did you let Kostya take the fall?" Nick asked. Grissom shot him a look, but watched the two younger men.

"Do you really care?" the Brit asked. "I wasn't going to risk my cover for him. And you certainly weren't about to let him go free because he was protecting Jill."

Nick tilted his chin up at Ethan. "If he'd switched sides and helped take down Lane, we might have offered him a deal."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Really? Even when he was your competition for Jill?"

Nick glared at him, and Gil interrupted with cough.

"Okay, enough," Grissom said. He opened his mouth to say more, but Brass suddenly entered the room. From the look on the detective's face, it wasn't what they wanted to hear.

"He's telling the truth," Brass said, shooting a glare to Ethan. "You're free to go."

Ethan stood, a smirk appearing yet again on his lips. "If I may have the cell phone . . ." Grissom sighed but nodded.

"Follow me."

He left, with Ethan behind him and wasting no time to ignore Nick. The Texan just watched him leave. He clenched his fists.

"Brass," he started, "who is he?"

The detective sighed. "Reading between the lines from what the State Department just told me, he's with British Intelligence." He watched as down the hall Ethan handled Lane's cell phone and made his way out of the building. "He's an emotionless s.o.b, isn't he?"

Nick didn't answer but his nails dug into his palms.

"The girl, Jill Parker, is at the hospital," Brass said. Nick tore his eyes away from the hallway. "She'd turned down medical examination before, but she decided to go now."

"Is she okay?" Nick asked.

"I don't know," the detective said. "She just barely left for the hospital. Maybe you should go check on her." He punctuated that with a slight smile and Nick nodded. He grabbed his jacket and keys and left.

* * *

"Sorry, Mr. Stokes," the nurse at the hospital said, "but she doesn't want to see anyone."

Nick's jaw dropped. He stammered a moment, wondering why she would refuse him . . .

"Is she all right?"

The nurse started to shake her head, and Nick felt his whole body tighten in pain. "I can't discuss anything without violating the patient's privacy—"

Nick shut his eyes. "I'm simply asking if she'll be okay."

Suddenly the nurse's eyes softened, and she nodded.

"Thank you," Nick whispered. He sighed and left the hospital.

Why didn't she want to see him? Maybe it was as simple as she wasn't dressed. Something inside him though said it was more complicated than that. Was she raped?

Nick froze. Was that why she didn't want to see him? He swallowed hard and shook his head, forcing himself to. Whatever the findings, he'd learn soon enough. The hospital would send a copy of any evidence to the CSI lab.

Kostya wouldn't have hurt her. As much as he disliked the Russian, Nick didn't think he'd do that. Ethan—well, no. He exhibited too much control to do something so angry and terrible. But Lane . . .

Nick felt a shudder run through him, followed quickly by anger. And then suddenly he remembered how she'd acted when they came to that warehouse. She was scared, and then . . . sorrowful, as they all watched Kostya die.

Kostya. It was him. Maybe Jill cared for him enough to mourn him. Somehow that didn't sit right with Nick, but he hadn't been there for Jill. And he acknowledged that. Kostya, on the other hand, was the only one seemingly on her side—especially with Ethan not caring if anything happened to her.

The anger reappeared and suddenly he wanted to find that cocky British kid and pound him. Since two of the kidnappers were dead, Nick was all for the last one to suffer the fates of their crimes. He knew though that it wouldn't happen. Ethan was gone, and immune from his actions.

Nick sighed as he pulled up to his house. He would try to call Jill later. For now, she needed space, and he wouldn't deny her that, not after failing her already.

* * *

Ethan's 'confessions,' if it could be called that, stung Jill. He might as well have shot Kostya himself. Or shot her, for all she cared.

She told herself it was indeed a tragedy that Kostya died, but she shouldn't let herself be affected. It didn't work though. For all the Russian's flaws, he did realize he wanted things to be different.

_He just never acted on it enough until it was too late._ Jill bit down on her lip and turned her thoughts away from the image of him dying in that warehouse.

Part of her wished Lane was alive. No one had paid for what happened—no one who deserved punishment, anyway. If only Ethan hadn't shot him . . . if only Ethan could be punished.

She sighed and walked into her apartment.

And stopped.

"Hi honey," her father said. He stood up from a couch that still harbored the dent of his body. His shady grin emerged and Jill couldn't help but feel disgusted.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. Inside she felt icy. Something about her father's presence made her feel poisoned, and she wanted nothing more than him to leave.

"I was worried! I saw the news—"

"Please leave," Jill said civilly. Her father shook his head.

"You're just tired," he said. "I'll make you some dinner." With that, he actually moved off the couch and headed to her small kitchen. Jill shook her head and followed him.

"No, I want you to go!" she almost shouted. Her dad merely waved it off and began digging in her fridge.

"I can't believe you don't have more in here," he started. "Well, I had to throw stuff out. You wouldn't believe what was growing—"

"I've been gone for several days! Kidnapped, remember!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. She dropped her tone. "I want you to leave, now."

Her dad stood firmly in place, and his face contorted with barely veiled rage.

"No," he seethed. "You listen to me, Jill—"

Fear had started to creep around her, but a knock at the door was the closest thing to salvation she could hear. Jill raced for the door and opened it, even as she heard her dad behind her.

It was Nick, and from his face, he knew immediately that something was wrong.

"Jill?"

"Nick!"

Her father came to a stop behind her suddenly.

"Who's this?" he asked, a bit angrily.

"Are you okay?" Nick asked. Jill glared at her father.

"He was just leaving."  
"No, I wasn't," Mr. Parker quickly said. From the doorstep, Nick glared.

"I think you should go," he said, stepping inside the door. Mr. Parker immediately objected, but Nick just held up a hand. "Jill wants you to leave, and as it's her home, if you don't, you're trespassing. Keep it up, and I'll call the police."

The father glared at him, then at his daughter, but it didn't faze Nick. He stepped forward, his shoulders square and jaw set. Mr. Parker didn't seem terribly intimidated, but after a tense moment, he brushed by his daughter and shoved Nick on his way out.

Nick wanted to hit him but restrained himself. Mr. Parker walked on down the sidewalk to a Lexus SUV. Nick frowned at that, but turned back to Jill.

She stepped aside and let him in. Nick shut the door behind him and for a few moments, they both just stood awkwardly in her apartment.

"You forgot to mention that you _are _the police," Jill said after the long silence. Nick grinned.

"Crime scene investigator. I didn't want to have to explain," he said. "Not the right moment, you know?"

She laughed, a brief chuckle but enough to make Nick loosen up as well.

"You okay?" he asked. She nodded.

"Yeah. That was my dad," she said, though Nick figured it out. She looked at him, studying his face. "Why are you here?"

She knew he probably felt . . . rejected or something because of the hospital incident, but Jill still wanted to be alone.

"I—I wanted to check on you," he said. "I was worried." Nick studied his feet but his head was turned just slightly up as if to wait for an answer.

Jill let a sad smile show. "Thank you." She drew a deep breath. "But I'm fine. I just want to rest."

Nick looked from the floor to her, slowly, his eyes understanding but his jawline taut with the truth.

"Okay," he said. He turned for the door, and as he started through it, he said, "If you need anything . . ." He held out a small card with his number.

Jill nodded and took it.

As soon as she heard the door shut, Jill sighed out and flopped on the couch. She wrinkled her nose—she could still smell her dad on it.

Jill groaned and headed for the shower.


	15. Digging

a/n: Again, sorry about the delay. I found that a decent episode with decent Nick time in it has inspired me. Enjoy!

**Digging**

Nick's steps were quick as he reentered the lab. He bypassed the breakroom and went straight to Grissom's office. He didn't even knock as he let himself in.

"Grissom, I need to talk to you," he said.

"And hello to you, Nick," his boss said. He swiveled in his chair and clasped his hands in front of him. "What is it?"

Nick started to pace. "I just ran into Jill's father."

Gil nodded, a light dawning in his eyes as he figured out where Nick was headed. "Not the most innocent man."

"No," Nick said. "He's not. Have you seen his file?"

Gil quirked an eyebrow at that. "His file?" Nick nodded.

"Suspected of murder, but never proven."

"Whose murder?"

Nick swallowed. "Jill's mom." He waited for that to sink in. "I just stopped by to check on Jill, and he was there. It was getting ugly."

Gil bit his tongue, feeling the anger go through him. "So what do you want to do?"

Nick drew a deep breath. "I want to look at the case."

* * *

It took some paperwork and convincing, but the police with jurisdiction over the case allowed Nick to go to review the case. 

Grissom, though, opted for Warrick and Sara to go.

"Why can't I go?" Nick asked, fighting to keep his tone in check.

Gil shot him a look. "You're too close." He raised a hand to stop him from objecting. "If you did find something, you'd be accused of tampering evidence because of your relationship with Jill."

Nick rolled his eyes. "I don't _have _a relationship with Jill!"

Gil paused, raising an eyebrow. "So you say, but the fact that you both were held captive together would seem like you have enough in common."

It was Nick's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Come on, Gris."

"That's my decision, Nick. Live with it."

* * *

Nick spent the next three days going through the motions of working. In his off-time, he debated about calling Jill. He gave in once, but the dismissal was evident in her voice. 

He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong—well, he knew what he wished had turned out differently, but that was a moot point. Why Jill wouldn't even talk to him, he didn't know. He'd given her space, right?

In truth, he just wanted to talk to her, to be with her, to make things right. He wasn't sure what the best way was for that, but as he drummed his fingers on the counter in his kitchen, he hoped to hear from Warrick soon.

Suddenly his phone rang, and Nick sprung for it.

"'Rick?" he said. Instead, he heard whimpering.

"Leave!" It was muffled, but suddenly became louder. "Nick!"

His throat tightened and his heart sped up. _Jill._ A shriek pierced the air, even through his phone, and before he could say anything, the line went dead.

Nick grabbed his gun and was out the door in two seconds. His pulse thundered in his ears. The tires of his SUV squealed, and it haunted him. It sounded like Jill's scream. He pulled out his cell phone, ready to call her back, and hope it wasn't something horrible. Just as he went to activate the call, his phone rang.

"Jill?!" he gasped after answering the call immediately.

"No, man," he heard a laid-back voice. "It's Warrick. What's wrong?"

Nick sighed and jerked the steering wheel to the left. "I'm on my way to Jill's. She just called, screaming."

"Was it because of her dad?"

Nick frowned. "What'd you find?"

His friend paused. "He did it, man," Warrick said. "LAPD has issued an arrest warrant, and the insurance company is already jumping on it."

Nick heard the words but couldn't process them. Ahead of him was Jill's house, her front door open.

"I gotta go."

He dropped the phone.

It sounded like a flood of water was rushing through his head. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was adrenaline, and he wasn't controlling it well. Nick tightened the grip on his gun, which was out and at his side.

"Don't move!" someone yelled. It was desperate, on the edge past reason. Nick froze just inside the doorway.

Jill's father shifted, ducking behind his daughter. Jill looked enraged, but a trace of fear didn't escape Nick's notice. Mr. Parker held a gun to her head, his hand shaking.

"Let her go," Nick growled. His gun was still at his side, and as much as he wanted to raise it at Parker, Jill mattered too much.

"Let her _go_!!!" Nick shouted.

Parker let out a gasp, and his face contorted in sadness and anger.

"I already did," he said. Jill's eyes flickered over her shoulder, trying to gain some understanding from her father's words. "I've spent the last ten years trying to get her back."

"Maybe you shouldn't have killed Mom then," Jill hissed, her eyes narrow. Nick expected some denial from Parker, but the man shifted his craziness to the CSI.

"You don't seem surprised," he said. His voice seemed distant, and something about that made the hairs on the back of Nick's neck stand on end. "I killed my wife."

Nick gritted his teeth but stayed his hand. "I know." He swallowed briefly. "I got the police to reopen the case."

Mr. Parker's face darkened noticeably. He moved. It wasn't hurried, but more methodical. He simply pointed the gun at Nick and fired.

Nick dropped to the floor. A scream echoed off the walls. It was primal, and Nick watched as the scene played out before him. Jill swung an arm at her father, catching him in the neck. It stunned the man, but didn't stop him. He turned the gun on Jill.

And that was it. Nick acted.

The shot rang out, and then all was quiet.

* * *

"How did he know?" Nick asked, a little dazed as he sat on the curb. He was unhurt, and just watched as the coroner carted off Mr. Parker's body. Nick followed the black bag, heat burning his eyes as he thought what the man almost did. 

Warrick didn't miss the hatred in Nick's eyes, nor the sudden softening as the Texan's gaze landed on Jill. She seemed equally stunned, if not more so. She was now without any parent. She was alone.

Warrick shook his head and picked up his thoughts. "I talked with the life insurance company who covered Mrs. Parker. They called Jill's dad."

Nick nodded, still staring at Jill. "And that's what set him off." Warrick just nodded. The two CSIs watched the scene, not even moving when Grissom and Sara moved into the house to process.

Internal Affairs would want a word with Nick. Warrick wanted to bring that up, to prepare his friend, but somehow he doubted Nick really cared about that. He opened his mouth to try his luck at it anyway.

And suddenly Nick was on his feet.

* * *

Jill saw him coming. She'd seen him the whole time, even though her ears ached from the screeches of the gurney wheels as her father's body was taken away. 

She couldn't bring herself to mourn him. She couldn't bring herself to shut out feeling either. Jill just sat at the base of a tree trunk, leaning against the wood. Life would be different, but not really. Right?

The future was a defense mechanism. It was a way to not dwell on the now, with the flashing red and blue lights, the people, the police, the horror. She could almost hear the news story, and it made her stomach turn.

So the future. Life would go on. School, job, maybe love . . .

Her eyes consciously took in Nick. He looked as torn as she felt. For some reason, she couldn't digest what he'd done tonight, even though it saved her life. Some part of her said it was terrible. Another part of her said it was necessary.

Again, the future. It was safer to think about it even as it pertained to Nick.

Jill scoffed to herself. _What future? With Nick?_ How would she ever tell about how they met? Or if somehow things progressed, how would she tell her kids about their grandfather when Nick was around?

She shook her head to herself and stared at the grass.

He sat by her, and she could sense the tension. She expected some stammering, some lame attempt at comfort. For a brief moment, she wondered what Kostya would have said.

Clear sadness filled her. The Russian wouldn't have said anything. And that would have been fine.

But it dawned on her that Nick hadn't said a thing since he sat. A minute passed. Then two. She didn't hear him try to start a sentence and think better of it. No. He just sat by her side, silent.

She found herself turning her body towards him. Her eyes washed over him, his earthy-toned clothes, the hard lines of his face and body. Her eyes wandered to his. He wasn't looking off at the sky or staring at the ground in guilt. He simply _looked_ back at her. He offered her a slight smile, nothing gloating or victorious or even happy.

Whatever it was, it was fine. For the first time in . . . too long, Jill was pleasantly surprised. She had no mother. Her murderous father was dead. She had been kidnapped. Held at gun point by family, foe and even one friend. Witnessed injustice and Kostya's death. As much as that grated her, hollowness wasn't what she felt.

She wasn't alone.

Slowly, Jill offered a trace of a smile back at Nick.

No, she wasn't alone. And sitting next to her was someone that she could rely on.

* * *

a/n: and that's the end. I hope it was worth reading. Thanks for the reviews and encouragement! 


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